


Only the Force

by vasaris



Series: Yet the Force [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: BDSM overtones, Canonical Character Death, GFY, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Beta Read, November RT Challenge (Insert Character A into Fandom B), Slavery, canon divergence (swtor), glacial build, my headcanon let me show you it, vigorous abuse of non-existent languages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 84,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasaris/pseuds/vasaris
Summary: When Padawan Cullen Rutherford's master falls, he discovers that there's more to the war between Jedi and Sith than he could have imagined.When Aquinea Thalrassian, Darth Saaraij, is captured by the Republic, course of Dorian's life is changed -- forever.A tale of the Great Galactic War and beyond.





	1. Cullen: Adaarani

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read. No apologies.
> 
> Written for the 'A Whole New World' Rough Trade challenge for NaNo -- I hit 50K, and, well, threre's a lot of story left.

 

Cullen fell, white blades appearing above him, blessedly blocking the blood-black of Master Stannard’s screaming saber. A grey-clad figure stood, tall and proud, between him and his Knight-master, vermillion skin and raven hair dancing on Force currents. A heavy-booted kick took his master square in the chest, sending her flying across the clearing.

 _Get up,_ something whispered, urging him to his feet. _Get up._

“NO!” screamed Master Stannard, sending a wave of Force so strong it lifted Cullen, sending him tumbling ass-over-foot into the granite rock-face. He tumbled down, twisting like a cat to land heavily on his feet by the once-hidden door in the cliff face. Terror beat against the durasteel door, a screaming tattoo in the darkness.  “They must die, can’t you see it Cullen? My dear, sweet Padawan. You’ve seen the evils of the Sith, the horrors that they’ve trained those children to commit. See reason, Padawan.”

“I’ll not stand by and watch you murder innocents, Master Meredith,” Cullen said, igniting the saber she’d helped him build, taking comfort that it was still golden and not the near-black malevolence of his Master’s.   “We found nothing, master. The people here live at peace, in harmony with the Force! There is no _reason_ for this… this _massacre._ ”

“We _are_ Sith,” the stranger said. Her musical voice was rich; crisp and tart like the _ajara-_ fruit of Cullen’s home world. Clear, water-vapor cloud eyes flicked over to him, seeming to smile in stern face that was as red as sunset. “For some that is reason enough.”

“You _sith-spawned whore,_ ” his master shouted, “I’ll not have you deceiving him as you have others!”

“I was born Sith, yes,” the woman quipped, raising those beautiful, pure blades up into guard, “but I can’t really be blamed for the beings that spawned me.”

His master roared and leaped, the black-red of her blade glowing malevolently in the growing dark. White met red, flashing and crashing in the dimming light as his Master struck wildly at the newcomer. The red-skinned woman whirled and twirled, pale eyes as bright and clear as her blades as she defended, never once striking out against building wall of Master Stannard’s incoherent rage.

“Calm yourself, Master!” Cullen cried out, his own fear joining the fierce thrum of terror at his back. Every time the blades crashed, he could see his master’s face. Where once hard blue eyes had stared out, uncompromising, dark amber now smoldered. Corruption spread over his master’s face with every blow she dealt, distorting every line and expression into unwonted savagery.

For an instant, Cullen thought he’d gotten through. He met the brazen, glowing copper of her eyes, unflinching. Then something Dark and alien crawled through her gaze and he barely brought up his blade in time to withstand her charging leap.

“Side with the Sith,” she crooned, “ _die like one.”_

“Master,” he gasped as her hand struck out, grasping is throat. Then there was nothing but the disfiguring smile and the pressure at his throat.

 _“Jedi,”_ the Sith muttered, “no sense of moderation. It’s not like anger is an all-or-nothing prospect.”

He saw his master’s expression slide into shocked surprise as the unlit saber smashed into the side of her head. Her hand slipped from his throat as she slumped into unconsciousness. Cullen wobbled, unsteady in the wake of the sudden release.

“Poor, brave boy,” the Sith murmured as he fell, weak and useless, to the ground. He wasn’t a _boy._ He wasn’t a _child_ – but when he looked into cloud-pale eyes that shone like twin suns on a desert, he felt impossibly young and naïve. Force-channeled healing swept over Cullen, Dark and unfamiliar as it worked, and he welcomed the strength of it as he pushed himself to his feet. “You must get up. The Force is with you.”

He looked down at his Master, who even now had begun to twitch. “That won’t stop her.”

“Of course not. Jedi Masters are not well known for their willingness to give in to such simple ploys as unconsciousness.” She looked at the rock face and the door behind him. Her hand moved, fingers hooking _just so_ as she gestured, ripping the door and frame from the stone and flinging it aside. “Come now, children. This nice young man is going to help you get away from here. My ship is at the base of the valley. Tell 2V – tell him that he must get you the home. The path south is clear, but you will need blades for the wildlife.”

A dozen children poured of the small room built into the cliff face, a few human, but most were familiar non-human races – all but the red-skinned male carrying a wailing infant. Pale eyes gleamed as the youth made a makeshift carry-sack from the ruins of a long sleeved tunic, tying the child to his chest. He eyed Cullen’s lit saber, blood-red fingers curling into fists.

“Dorian, come here.” The woman held her arms out. “My son.”

“Mother,” he went into her embrace. The infant, held between them, quieted, it’s reedy wail becoming hiccups.

“You must go. You must take the children somewhere safe, you must take your… your cousin somewhere where she’ll draw no eye.”

“I can’t just leave you here!”

“Of course you can. It is a Sith’s honor to serve, my love.” Graceful fingers wiped away tears before they were fully formed. She pulled back, offering up the spare, almost utilitarian hilts of her sabers. “Take these: You are at least as capable as the Padawan here and the forest isn’t safe.”

“Mother… _Mama_. No.”

“If I _need_ to bring a lightsaber to a fight, I’ve already lost it,” she said, curling his elegant hands over the hilts. She twisted her head, looking over her shoulder. “Go, before she can distort the currents of the Force further and prevents you from running. I will cleanse this corruption and follow you as I am able. May the Force stand ever at your side.”

“Right then,” the youth – no, _Dorian –_ said, with barely a tremble. “Just like we learned in practice. You heard Lord Aquinea.” Irony swam in those water-vapor depths. “Do try to keep up, Jedi. Keep us safe, if you can.”

The familiar snap-pop of his master’s blade echoed loudly in the clearing.

“Run!”

With that the he took off, faster than sight, the other children with him.

“NOOOooooo!” his master screamed. “They must die! They’re _Sith_.”

The Sith woman said nothing, drawing his master’s attention with a musical crackle of aureate lightning.

Cullen ran, begging the Force to guide his steps, to give him speed even as he felt Darkness and Light clash, shaking the mountain. The trail the children had taken was vibrant in his inner sight: rage, fear, confusion and loss commingling in a bright rope so solid it felt like it should have been visible. Great gouts of golden light tore the sky, crackling and booming as the Force danced, bright and terrible over the mountainside. Below him he saw white blades flare to life.

It was a strange and twisted beast, some fifteen or twenty feet tall, seeming to hunch under the weight of the bony spikes and plates that sheathed it like armor. The creature loomed grotesquely over the young sith, swirling with what felt like Dark intent. Dorian stood defiant, pale eyes glowing as bright as his mother’s blades, as the other children continued to run, their footsteps as sure in the Force as any Jedi initiate or Padawan. The infant bound to the youth’s chest wailed, high and thin, as the thing struck out, the bony scythes of its limbs far less clumsy than they looked.

Cullen leapt, trusting the Force to guide him as he landed, blade down, upon the creature’s back. The creature roared as the plasma blade struck deep, rearing back as Cullen deactivated the blade to jump high. He felt Dorian tumble past and saw the white blades strike deep across the thing’s chest as he landed, sabers whirling.

His body slowed at the apex of his jump, gravity catching hold of him once again. Cullen found himself laughing in exaltation as he fell, almost faster than thought as the Force flung him down.

 _Now,_ it whispered, and he ignited his blade, sweeping the yellow-gold blade through a separation of the armor plates. Twisting, he landed on his feet just as the creature’s head bounced off the stony ground, some feet away. Gouts of blue-black blood proved stronger than the cauterization of the blade, the beast’s fierce heart still pumping as the corpse tumbled to the ground.

“Well,” said Dorian, deactivating his blades and clipping them to the deceptively insubstantial belt that wrapped around his slim waist. “You’re somewhat more useful than your training would suggest, I see. Certainly, you’re prettier than I would expect.”

Cullen quirked an eyebrow at him, managing to keep his expression neutral. He left his blade ignited as he made a slow turn, sweeping the area for further threats. From the corner of his eye he could see Dorian lift a hand to cradle the wailing infant’s head. A gentle whisper issued from the young sith’s lips and the child calmed, seeming to fall into a fitful sleep.

“We should go,” said Cullen.

“Indeed we should, Sir Padawan of the Jedi Order. They others are not too far ahead. They’re not fool enough to leave the protection of my mother’s blades.” Dorian’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look up the mountain. The swirl and flash of light had faded, but only natural darkness remained. Cullen didn’t need to go back to know that his Master was dead.

He had no idea whether or not Dorian’s mother was too. In the distance he could see flames and the lights of shuttles landing, undoubtedly carrying the troops that his Master had called for. The compound the Sith had lived in was not excessively large, but the surrounding woodland and villages could hide survivors of the attack Master Stannard had staged, and it would take months – if not years – for a thorough sweep to catch all of the rogue Force users the place had held and trained.

“We should go for help.”

Dorian snorted, turning away. “As if that were even possible, Sir Padawan. I believe you heard your Master. We are of the Sith. We cannot be permitted survival.”

“Not all of you are Sith, and most of you are young enough that I’m sure the Order would –”

“What, take us in?” Dorian challenged, turning back. “The same Order that authorized an attack on a _non-Republic world_ , just because we _exist?_ No thank you.”

“Rogue Force users –”

“These people lived here in peace, you dolt.” Pale eyes flashed, silver-gold like pure electrum. “Away from the Empire and Republic both, clearly with reason.”

“The Order doesn’t want to hurt you or the kids.”

“Hah. You are naïve, Jedi. Your Order doesn’t tolerate any other philosophy.”

“As though the Sith are better,” Cullen snapped back.

“The Sith,” Dorian bit out, “are not some great monolith of spite and hatred, despite what your Masters might have taught you. The Sith _Empire_ , for all of its faults, may stand unified against the corrupt chaos of your Republic, and the _Sith Order_ may hate Republic and Jedi both, to the shriveled testes of its stunted and Darkened soul, but neither of these things are the _Sith_ , _Sir Padawan_.”

Cullen stared at Dorian’s retreating back as the youth slipped back into the forest and away from the light shed by Cullen’s saber.

“At least let _me_ help you,” he called out, taking off at a jog to catch up.

“I doubt I could stop you,” Dorian’s voice came back, the words clipped and sharpened like knives. “There are more things in this forest than transplanted vorantikus, and I am but one delightfully talented man with a baby strapped to his chest.”

“Man?” Cullen asked, falling into step at Dorian’s side. If Sith aging patterns were anything like human, he could be no more than sixteen standard years old.

“If you have a better introduction to adulthood than the destruction of everything you love by sworn enemies and being thrown down a mountain to survive as best you can in a hostile galaxy, I’m all ears, Sir Padawan.”

All things considered, Cullen had to concede, it was as good a definition as any.

-0-

“And then you let them go? Are you _mad_ , Padawan?”

“Calm yourself, Master Karr,” Knight Shan stood near the door of Cullen’s interrogation room, arms folded beneath her breasts. “I’m certain Padawan Rutherford is aware that his judgement may have been impaired by the Sith.”

“If it’s impairment to let a shipload of children escape a war-zone, I’m not certain I wish to be in my right mind.”

“Bah!” The Jedi Master threw up hands, pushing away from the table that held his master’s saber and a stack of flimsies documenting the wholesale slaughter that had been perpetrated on the compound. “Bad enough that our prisoner managed to kill Master Stannard, but to corrupt an otherwise excellent padawan in such a short time? We should just execute her and be done with it.”

Cullen’s eyes widened, shock ripping through him like an icy knife.

Knight Shan studied him, green eyes shining in the artificial light of the room. Her brow rose, an elegant slash of black against creamy, unmarked skin.

“Lord Aquinea saved my life!” The words shot from his lips like swoop-bikes racing for the finish. “My master – she’d gone crazy, Knight Shan. They were kids, most of them little – they couldn’t fight back. They’d gone through an escape tunnel and were hiding in a tiny, fortified room and my Master would have killed them. If the Sith hadn’t shown up when she did, Master would have killed me to get to them.”

“What kind of filthy lies have they managed to plant in your brain, padawan?” Master Karr shoved a hand through short-cropped hair. “Meredith Stannard was one of the best of us, you know that, padawan. She was as strong and pure in the Light Side – she was the one who was defenseless!”

Karr stepped forward, lifting the hilt of his Master’s blade. “This is a Sith blood blade, padawan. They are tools of the Dark Side and only a Sith could carry one.”

He then thumbed the activator, freeing the red-black blade to shine, Dark and malevolent between them.

“Master Karr!” Knight Shan objected. “There is no need to expose the boy to such an artifact.”

“That’s not the Sith’s blade.” He stared into Master Karr’s eyes, willing the man to understand. “She gave hers to… to one of the children, the eldest, so they’d have protection in the woods.”

The blade vanished and Karr shook his head.

“You see the difficulty Knight Shan? It’s clear he’s been thoroughly tampered with.”

“No one at one with the Light should be able to ignite that blade, Master Karr.” Knight Shan stepped forward. “But that will be an issue for the Council to debate. I will take the boy and our prisoner back to the Temple, where both can be more thoroughly assessed.”

“You would take a Sith Lord to Coruscant?”

“She cannot be tried for her crimes here.”

Cullen dropped his eyes to the table, staring down at the scattered images etched on flimsiplast, committing them to his memory. There were so many bodies – not all of them had been cut down by lightsabers, many had been taken down by the soldiers his Master had commandeered for the raid. But this was the Darkness that he had to face within himself, being swept up in battle frenzy so that he had not noticed how few of the fallen had had weapons, or had tried to run.

Master Stannard had called for a cleansing, and she had gotten one.

Cullen’s stomach roiled.

“Come, padawan. My ship is in orbit.”

“Don’t forget this,” said Master Karr, tossing the hit toward Knight Shan, who caught it with the Force, but did not seem at all eager to touch it with her hands. “The datapackets showing the destruction have already been transmitted to the Senate.”

“Of course, Master Karr. May the Force be with you in your endeavors.”

“And you, Knight Shan.”

She led him out of the room, and Cullen found himself surprised by how small she was, coming to just above his shoulder. Knight Shan was a burgeoning legend in the order – powerful in battle, a beacon of the Light. Looking at her through the Force was like staring into the heart of a star, and the calm of her aura was its light.

Knight Shan guided him down a maze of hallways, heading – he thought – toward the docking ring.

“He’s wrong, Master Stannard Fell,” he said quietly.

She hesitated for a moment, then pulled him into an empty room. “Padawan, I know you have been through a terrible thing – a trying experience that would break many knights and even masters – but your memory has been muddled by the Dark. I can feel its hooks in you.”

“Knight Shan – if there are, it’s not the Sith, I swear it to you.”

“I know you believe that, Padawan. But look at the evidence – we have a powerful Sith Lord and a blade that reeks of Darkness. The clearing where we found them is awash in so much Dark and Light energy that it’s impossible to tell what happened there.” She placed her hand upon his. “It’s hard to accept, I know, but she doubtless laid a compulsion on you that you couldn’t fight, muddled your perception so that you wouldn’t recognize the Sith you released for what they were.”

Cullen’s conviction wavered. Many things were possible in the Force. He had seen his master modify the minds of the unwary, re-writing what they saw and understood into a mosaic she created. Could he trust his memory at all? Sith were evil, everyone knew that – they were the whole reason for the war. They were vicious and cruel _(gentle fingers wiping away tears)_ , they’d have no compunction about twisting his mind _(children, terrified of **Jedi** )_, or re-writing his memory _(an infant’s confused and angry wail)_.

“The healers at the temple will help you sort it. The Sith will stand trial for Master Stannard’s murder and for war crimes against these people. I imagine even the Empire will appreciate that, since so many of them are Sith purebloods.”

“The… the Sith are not very accepting of philosophies not their own.”

“It is a shame,” said knight Shan. “It’s possible that we might have made allies of them, if they weren’t adherents to the Sith Code.”

“It’s too late, now.”

“Yes. Far too late.”

It was a shock to see Lord Aquinea when they arrived at the shuttle bay. She was shackled, arms bound behind her in Wookie-grade restraints, her throat and mouth covered by a Force inhibiting muzzle. He would have expected her to stand stiffly defiant, to see her eyes spitting sparks and hatred. Instead, she stood in something like a parade rest, projecting an amused resignation despite the bruises on her face and the mess of her hair. Someone had put her in a blue-and-white jumpsuit, with republic sigils stamped on the chest and shoulders.

“Lord Aquinea, I presume?”

Blood-red lids swept slowly down over cloud-pale eyes, and Cullen realized abruptly that the muzzle not only prevented speech, but Aquinea couldn’t even nod or shake her head. Knight Shan seemed to realize this as well, her lips firming into a stiff line as she stepped forward.

“Knight Satele,” said the soldier on Aquinea’s left, the symbol of Havoc Squad bright on the shoulder of his armor. “Why is it that there are Sith involved whenever I see you?”

“It might have something to do with the fact there’s a war on, Major,” Knight Shan retorted, dry. “Has she given you any problems, Jace?”

“Not a one, which is a surprise. One of the Intelligence geeks recognized her. This here is Lord Aquinea Thalrassian, Darth Saaraij. An eminent archaeologist of all things. Still, a Sith doesn’t rise so high by being nice.”

The Sith twitched her shoulders, managing to convey laughter and acknowledgement.

“Is that so?” Knight Shan’s eyes flashed. “If she’s been so amenable, why is she muzzled?”

“I’d say it’s because you can’t be too careful with Sith, but I’m pretty sure you could handle her.” He prodded Aquinea forward. “But Master Karr insisted… and now she’s all yours.”

“Star’s glory, I can’t keep her like that all the way to Coruscant.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something, Satele, you always do. But it’s time for us to get back to the front. Nice seein’ you, Knight.”

“We’ll meet again, Major.” The words rang with certainty, making Cullen start. He saw the major throw a salute, and he and his men filed out.

“So, here we are. Cullen, do you know how to pilot a _Templar-_ class shuttle?”

He tried not to look offended at the question, but was certain he’d failed at it. As if they’d’ve let him off Coruscant unable to pilot the most common orbit-to-surface landing craft. He was a Padawan – he… he would have been named a Senior Padawan after this mission, and been put in rotation to begin preparation for his Trials. Now he was compromised and masterless.

“Calm yourself, padawan.” The knight did not take her eyes off of the Sith. “There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity….”

“There is no chaos, there is harmony,” he joined in, feeling his emotions settle. “There is no death, there is the Force.”

The Sith watched them, eyes oddly intent. There was no rejection in that gaze, no defiance or rebuke, just a strange sort of fascination.

“Interesting,” said Knight Shan. “Not what one would expect from a high powered Sith, indeed.”

“Knight Shan –”

“Satele.”

“Knight Satele –”

“Just Satele, padawan, it’s a long trip to Coruscant for us to be ‘Knight’ and ‘Padawan’-ing one another. I hope I may call you Cullen.”

“Um. If you like.” He looked at Lord Aquinea. “They can’t all be evil, can they? The Sith I mean.”

“Do not be fooled, padawan – Cullen.” Satele moved to stand slightly behind Lord Aquinea, urging the woman forward toward the shuttle. “Whatever you remember, it is likely not accurate, and even if it was, no Sith does anything without a reason… and that reason is rarely good as we would define it.”

The Sith’s eyes glinted, amusement and agreement both seeming to dance in their depths. Cullen was almost certain that Aquinea’s mouth curved in a rueful smile behind the muzzle.

“I’ll… go do the pre-flight checks, shall I?”

“It would be greatly appreciated, Cullen. I’ve little doubt that this will be something of an uncomfortable trip for us all.”

Satele wasn’t wrong. The flight to her orbiting ship was crowded, the _Templar-_ class shuttles, while made for up to four people, weren’t designed for passengers in restraints. Aquinea’s amusement with the situation was palpable, despite her lack of access to the Force.

Cullen could almost hear her chiming voice say _just like a Jedi_ , but that was impossible. He didn’t know her, not well enough to know what she thought, and her Force abilities were restrained… weren’t they?

They docked with Satele’s waiting ship without incident and he watched the Knight take her – _their? –_ prisoner aboard with words that were kind, but not gentle, and hands that were insistent without being cruel. Cullen sat at the controls, unsure of what to do with himself. Satele would obviously assign him a berth, but she would doubtless prefer to get Aquinea… What? he wondered, what was the appropriate word? Settled implied something like a guest. Incarcerated? The knight’s ship was small, designed for a crew of no more than six. He doubted it had anything akin to a brig.

“Oh, my! Master Satele said that she had brought a young padawan and there you are! It is a pleasure to meet you! I am C2-JC, the protocol droid assigned to the Temple Ship _Stalwart._ I am here to ensure your comfort and health while we are in flight.” A golden head popped in from where the shuttle hatch attached to the larger ship. Brilliant golden eyes gleamed with electric excitement. “Please allow me to lead you to the quarters I have prepared. I hope you will find them satisfactory. I’ve ensured that the materials for the mattress have been kept up to date and aired out, so everything should smell fresh and lovely. Please inform me immediately if you should encounter any dust or mustiness. Also, do you have any preferences for mealtimes? I am programmed in a thousand different cuisines.”

“Right,” said Cullen, wondering if droid designers shouldn’t program the need to breathe into their creations. He stood and went to the airlock. “I’m sure it will all be fine, C2…”

“Master Satele usually calls me JC, there are many C2 units amongst the temple ships and she likes to ensure that we’re acknowledged individually. Master Satele is very kind.”

“Alright. JC it is then. Do you actually have the ingredients to make dishes from a thousand different cuisines?”

The golden droid slumped, its burbling ebullience deflating for a moment before JC perked up. “No, but there are many variations and things that I could try!”

“Why not surprise me, then?” The moment the words came out, Cullen suspected that would regret them. Droids didn’t have taste buds. Or personal preferences.

“Oh, thank you master! I’ll do my best!”

“I do prefer heat to sweet,” Cullen backtracked, alarmed by JC’s artless enthusiasm.

“Ah! I have just the thing – we have a small supply of Devaronian peppers…” The droid began to wander off.

“My quarters?”

“Oh, of course, young master. It’s this way!” The droid pranced down the corridor, childlike and gleeful as it prattled on about the specifications of the ship and the improvements it had made during its service aboard. JC gave a little bow, waving its gold-enameled bone-like arms in the traditional pose that every host and hostess on every world seemed to use as it gestured toward the cabin Cullen had been assigned.

“Master Satele mentioned that you had no kit, so I consulted the Temple database. The robes I had on hand will be a little large, but I will have a set ready for your measurements by morning, Galactic Standard. For now, I hope you will find the workout gear satisfactory.”

“That’s good. No, I’m sorry, that’s amazing, JC. Thank you very much!”

“The refresher is at the end of the corridor, young master, and Master Satele has said that if you wish a water shower, you may take one that is as long as you like. Our water stores are topped up and three passengers will be no strain on the filtration. Standard rationing will apply in-flight, of course.”

“A water shower?” Cullen sounded dazed and dreamy even to himself. “Stars and glory.”

“Please leave your dirty robes in the hamper, I will see if they can be salvaged.”

Cullen stared down at himself, abruptly aware of the tears and bloodstains and dirt he carried. Master Karr had not been willing to let him clean up before the interrogation he’d put Cullen through. He’d barely allowed Cullen to visit the medical droids. He blenched, wishing he could just burn them. Master Stannard had presented these to him as a naming day gift _(she’d stared at him with eyes that burned copper-bright instead of star-blue)_ and he’d worn them as they’d brought terror to innocent people _(they must die, they’re all Sith)._ The burned slashes were from that Dark, red blade _(poor, brave boy)_ but only some of the blood was his own _(your memories may be suspect)_.

“Whatever you can do with them, JC.” He was Jedi, objects would not be allowed to hold sway.

The droid nodded. “I’ll get to work on dinner immediately.”

“Belay that.” Cullen could hear the smile in Satele’s voice. “You will run your recipes by me _first_ , JC.”

“…yes, Master Satele.” The droid trudged off in the direction of the galley.

“JC requires special handling,” said Satele. “He’s very enthusiastic, but… well, his programming is not as complete as he – or we – might prefer.”

“Whose is?” Cullen asked, bemused. “He certainly tries hard.”

“Hah. Good point. We are not perfect, just travelers on the endless journey there. Once you’re settled, you likely will find me in the galley, limiting the damage JC can do to our food.”

-0-

Cullen supposed it was less than Jedi-like to give in to the utter bliss of a shower set to just below ‘boil off human skin’, but he didn’t care. Here in the billowing steam and warm lather he could let his mind go in a way that meditation could not match. Cullen didn’t want to think, and so he didn’t, concentrating instead on the feel of water on skin, and the warm, woody scent of Knight Shan’s preferred soap. He lathered his hands, running a mound of silky bubbles through the thick hair on his chest. A nail clipped one of his nipples, and he moaned, leaning back against the ’fresher’s wall.

Not very Jedi-like at all.

He plucked at the offended nub, rolling it sharply just to feel the jolt of pleasure that pooled in his gut. Cullen slid the other hand down, rubbing low across his belly. The slick trail of bubbles followed his hand in a sensuous caress, a silken slide that caressed the base of his thickening cock to gather wet and warm along his balls.

Cullen let his hand follow, rubbing the thick lather through wiry curls, playing gently before rubbing at the space behind. It felt good, in a way that nothing had in days, to let his other hand slip down and grip, a slick-hot circle of flesh to rub and fuck, and so he did, biting his lip to try and keep his pleasured moans behind his teeth. Images flashed through his mind: Satele’s flawless fucking breasts, Master Karr’s trim waist, but mostly he pictured Dorian’s blood-red skin, silver-pale eyes and a perfect mouth stretched wide around his cock.

Cullen imagined the Sith on his knees, eyes closed in bliss. He could almost feel the crisp waves of hair clutched in his greedy fingers, like knotted silk, as he fucked the wet heat of Dorian’s throat. The sound of fist sliding over cock was Dorian’s hand, the Sith taking his own eager pleasure as Cullen used him, barely allowing him to breathe between strokes. He’d gag for it, Cullen thought, perfect lips swollen and shining with spit and pre-come. He’d fuck his own fist as he swallowed around Cullen’s cock, and Cullen would hold him there, until Dorian was lightheaded and aching for air. Dorian would come first, throat spasming as his muscles locked in pleasure, and Cullen would follow, spilling his seed across his lover’s eager tongue.

Cullen’s hips jerked, thick stripes of cum spattering the ’fresher wall as he came, hard and hot. The billowing steam surrounded him with the scent guilt and pleasure. He leaned heavily against the wall, lassitude and horror mixing in equal measure as his head dropped back, thudding slightly on the molded resin. Hot water swirled down his skin, rinsing soap away with the results of his fantasy and Cullen felt faintly sick. Better that he’d imagined Knight Shan’s legs wrapped eagerly around his hips, her purring alto reduced to incoherent moans… better to long for Master Karr’s rough hands holding him still as they fucked rough-and-ready against a wall.

Better to picture his _Master_ lost in passion, than fantasizing a Sith on his knees. Was there any greater proof that he had indeed been tainted by his experiences?

He needed to meditate, not give in to stupid physical pleasures. Passion was a tool of the Dark Side, and pleasure a lure he knew better than to indulge. A flicker of Force and the water went from hot to cold and Cullen finished his shower shivering. Drying himself off quickly, he dressed in the Temple-issue workout pants and shirt that JC had provided.

He didn’t have shoes and Cullen didn’t have the heart to put on the bloodstained leather boots he’d been wearing. He resolved to ask the droid if there were any shipboard slippers he might be able to borrow before padding down the cool tiles toward his bunk. He could hear Satele’s soothing voice coming from the direction of the galley and JC’s excited babble, letting both wash over him for a moment before palming the door closed and shutting them both out.

He knelt, mildly surprised to realize that the decking in crew quarters was slightly cushioned, even in the absence of the small meditation mats that were stored in clear containers on the back wall. He and his master had often used a smaller, but well-appointed Temple ship, but _Sword of Mercy_ hadn’t had anything like this thin layer of padding. She’d also forbidden the use of any kind of cushioning, from mats to mattresses, holding that it was only through strict asceticism and overcoming discomfort could one find a strong and lasting connection to the Light Side of the force.

Cullen wondered about that, looking around. Knight Shan was as firmly anchored in the Light as any Jedi he’d ever met and clearly she didn’t take issue with small comforts. Then again, Knight Shan had seen so much – she’d barely escaped when the Sith had attacked Korriban without warning, carrying the message of renewed war back to the Republic so they could mobilize and fight back. Perhaps Satele Shan had simply moved beyond the cruel austerity that had driven his Master.

He took a breath, holding it and then releasing it slowly, settling in to a smooth cycle of breathing that allowed him to calm down and relax into the embrace of the Force. Light cradled him, bright and pitiless. Cullen found no comfort in seeing all his shadows exposed; his fear, his anger, the stubborn seeds of unwanted passions. He’d heard other padawans speak of finding joy in meditation, but he didn’t. Ever since the first session with Master Stannard, meditation was an exercise in self-flagellation and purification. She’d shown him how to find his flaws, so that he could root them out and become a vessel of unalloyed Light.

It was one more reason to doubt his memories of the last days – Master Stannard couldn’t have used that hideous, dark blade. He needed to root out and destroy whatever Darkness he’d been infected with that he’d thought himself saved by a devotee of the Dark Side. He might never know what had really happened, but he could cleanse himself of whatever weaknesses had made him susceptible.

And he’d start with that fantasy; the foul and encroaching lure to pleasure and passion… with a _Sith._

-0-

Satele glanced at him as he hovered at the entrance to the small galley, green eyes alight with amusement as JC puttered about. Despite the concern she’d expressed about the droid would ruin the meal, the mouthwatering scents coming from the cooker indicated at least one of them was a competent hand with foodstuffs.

“One of the more successful experiments, I think,” she told him as JC placed small rounds of dough in the oven unit.

“It smells good.” Master Stannard, Cullen thought, would have disapproved, and as Cullen had just come to realize, even simple pleasures could open paths to the Dark.

“The food should be ready in fifteen minutes, Master Satele. Did you wish to eat here or re-purpose the conference room?”

“Conference room, I think,” said Satele. “Cullen and I can set the places.”

“Oh, no, Master. That is my job! Please allow me the pleasure of seeing to your comfort.” The droid darted off, brushing past Cullen with an unexpected grace, given the ungainly design of his humanoid chassis and limbs.

Satele covered her mouth, muffling a laugh as JC bounded back in to collect plates and flatware before running off again.

“It doesn’t take much to make it happy,” said Cullen and she shook her head, still chuckling. She motioned him in, giving him a once-over. He fidgeted. Despite the work he’d done in meditation, he felt like the Knight before him would see the stain of his fantasies, but she said nothing, merely nodded.

“You feel much calmer now, more steady.”

Cullen nodded. His meditation had given him greater clarity of thought, though the thoughts that had been planted would be difficult to eradicate. For the first time, he really understood why Master Stannard had so disapproved of anything that spoke of sex, and it would take effort to eliminate his unseemly desires. He’d be spending a lot of time on his knees.

“We’ll be in orbit for the next sixteen standard hours, to give us the best and most direct course to Coruscant. I want you to be aware of how I intend to deal with the Sith.” Satele shook her head, the short dark braids that framed her face swaying. “She will be confined to quarters, except for a brief exercise period where she will be allowed to use the hold for whatever exercises she wishes to partake of. I’ve removed the muzzle, but left the inhibitor. The restraints are controlled by an electromagnetic lock and do not need to be in the configuration Major Malcom placed them in. I’ve left the manacles on and returned the use of her hands to her. They can be forced into binding position with word and JC has the master control on the off chance that one of us is overpowered.”

“I see.”

“You needn’t see her at any time during the flight, but it will be two tendays before we hit any of the major hyperspace lanes, and another two before we reach Coruscant.” Satele studied him. “But if you are willing, I thought that we might use that time to our advantage.”

Cullen met her eyes steadily. “It is a Jedi’s duty to serve.”

 _It is a Sith’s_ honor _to serve._

“Brave lad.” Satele nodded sharply. “We could keep her in isolation for the trip, but the more we learn about her and what she knows, the better off the Republic will be.”

“Do you think she knows anything useful?”

Her lips curved, sharp and rueful. “If Jace Malcom’s information is right, and frankly his people are rarely wrong, I imagine she knows a great many things that _we_ might find of use, but the Republic? We won’t know unless we ask.”

“Mealtimes, then?”

“Yes. Something less… unfriendly than what Master Karr would have subjected her to.”

The hairs on the back of Cullen’s neck prickled. “You think Master Karr would have done something… wrong?”

“Master Karr has spent time undercover in the Empire,” Satele said quietly. “I believe he recognized her, and in his dedication to the Order and the Republic, I think he might do something… regrettable, to try and ensure that his cover is not broken. He’s due to return there, I believe. If not for your Master’s summons, he would already be on Dromund Kaas, continuing his mission.”

“Why tell me?”

Satele rubbed her forehead, sighing. “I don’t know why – but you need to know.”

Cullen opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized he didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a mystery to me as well,” said Satele, wry. “I’m fairly certain I’ve managed to keep JC from poisoning us, but I hope you like spice!”

“Bring it on,” he offered her a small smile that tilted oddly at the corners. “Hot foods are a challenge to overcome!”

Satele laughed, a wobbly little sound that was oddly endearing. “I’ll bring… Lord Aquinea to the table.”

Cullen nodded and she rose, heading to the door.

“And get JC to give you some shoes,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re a padawan, not a hooligan!”

“As you wish, Sir Knight!”

“Oh, dear.” JC’s voice echoed from the corridor. “I did forget to provide you shoes!”

Metallic footsteps clacked in a hasty retreat, and Cullen found himself wanting to laugh despite the seriousness of it all. He’d just agreed to break bread with a woman who had slaughtered his master in cold blood, who had manipulated his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure what tack Satele’s questioning would take, but he knew that he would be required to remain civil.

The thought raked him with vicious claws, but he could almost feel Master Stannard’s approval of the difficulty. Banking his anger – resisting it – was an appropriate atonement for his slip in the shower. Cullen nodded to himself, exiting the galley and heading past what looked like a converted cargo bay that was just large enough for vigorous sparring, using the crates and boxes as obstacles.

JC caught him as he reached the conference room. It was a spare, utilitarian thing with a single long table with room for six to sit comfortably, and eight if they were friendly. There was a holoprojector at the center, currently cued to a Coruscanti news program – They were an old one, he noted, raising an eyebrow.

“I hope you will find these comfortable young Master.”

“Hardly a master.” He smiled at the droid, taking the light slippers and putting them on. “Please call me Cullen, JC.”

“Master Cullen, then,” JC chirped brightly. “You are very kind to invite such familiarity, but it would be most inappropriate.”

“I’m just a padawan.” _And a masterless one at that._

“There is no such thing, young master! You are a light of the Order. I’ve reviewed your file and you are quite remarkable, as all padawans are!”

Cullen hummed at this confirmation that he was, indeed, just a padawan when felt Satele and their prisoner approach.

“Is the food ready?”

“The rolls! Oh, no!” The droid hurried away in a distressed burble.

“Excitable, isn’t he?” The voice was as rich as he remembered, the tart sweetness of it as refreshing as nectar. Electrum eyes swept over him and she smiled. “I couldn’t say it earlier, but it gladdens my heart to see you well, young padawan.”

Satele, standing behind the Sith woman, raised her brow in surprise.

“Um,” Cullen shifted on his feet. “I – we – I’m sorry for that.”

“Hardy your fault, dear one,” the Sith made a sweeping gesture toward herself, all grace despite the bulky manacles. “I am Sith, and your Order rightly fears my kind, for all that I myself mean none of you harm.”

Cullen’s eyes followed her hands, taking in what he hadn’t been able to see in the dark and what he’d been distracted from when they’d been on the ground. The Sith was tall, towering over Satele, her skin the same shade as fresh human blood. Her features were narrow, a neat architecture of clean lines and graceful sweeps. The odd, fleshy tendrils that marked the blood aristocracy of the Empire accentuated the sharpness of her eyes and the sweet curves of cheek and mouth. Even dressed as she was in a Republic jumpsuit, she was every inch the Sith that he had been taught from the crèche onward to fear.

She looked like Dorian, and unwanted heat uncurled in his belly.

“Is that so?” Cullen stepped back, touching the magnetic unlock for the chair legs and pulling it away from the table in a silent invitation for her to sit. “Then we have nothing to fear sharing a meal with you.”

Her lips curved, a lethal flash of blood and pearl, and she took the offered seat. She looked up at him, nostrils flaring slightly. A faint, purring rumble touched his ears as her lips parted, tongue flicking out to taste the air. Cullen flushed, ashamed and aroused by the damp gleam of her lips and the memory of his fantasy.

“You are Lord Thalrassian, I’m told?”

He was grateful for Satele’s interruption. He’d long been warned of the innate corruption of the Sith, but it had never been described like this, an aura of awareness, of potential, that invited pleasure and passion. Electrum eyes turned from him, alighting upon Satele.

“Lord Thalrassian is the title my brother inherited, once my grandfather stepped away from the post in order to pursue other duties to the empire. I, as I have little doubt you know, am Aquinea Thalrassian, Darth Saaraij. Do call me Aquinea,” the Sith said, leaning forward to rest an elbow upon the table, and her chin upon her palm. “We’re all friends here, are we not?”

“We could be,” said Satele, ignoring the light mockery. “I’m sure the Council would be pleased –”

“—ah, ah, ah, Knight Shan!” Aquinea raised her free hand and shook a finger, “you’re supposed to make friends with me first.”

“But we’re already friends,” said Cullen, taking a place across from the Sith but closer to the door. “You said so.”

“There are friends,” said Aquinea, “and there are _friends._ Friends don’t let friends surrender to the enemy, at least not without a reasonable amount of compensation for the betrayal.”

“Lord Aquinea, you must know the position that you’re in.”

“No, not a clue! Jedi Knight, Jedi Padawan, a Jedi Master brooding hard enough to affect storm systems on the planet below…. Honestly, I have no idea what it could possibly mean.” Aquinea leaned back in her chair, waving her hands about. “I’m just a sith, after all, and I can’t be all that bright if I follow the ways of the Dark Side, so…. Nope. I’m just blinded by the light.”

Satele sighed. “I would like to help you.”

“My dear knight Shan, it will be some days before we reach your home world and my inevitable downfall. My life is measured in a handful of tendays, and if the only enjoyment I can have is this, then I will take it. Your belief that you can, what, save me? Is adorable. But the only thing that you see when you look at me is a Sith. It’s all that Jedi ever see.”

“You cannot know that,” said Satele.

Aquinea shook her head. “I assure you, my dear, I am well aware of how you and your kind see me and mine. But that is hardly a subject for mealtimes.”

“How do we see you?” asked Cullen.

“The same way we see you,” she said lightly, as JC came in carrying a pot of what looked like Corellian vegetable-and-nerf stew and a basket filled with steaming rolls. “An incarnation of all that is evil in the universe.”

He saw Satele’s eyes widen, shocked at the frank admission.

“But… the Jedi aren’t evil,” said Cullen, as JC shut off the holoprojector and set out their meal.

“Are you so sure, Padawan? But no, we shan’t debate philosophy – it’s unfair to us both. I wouldn’t want to sully your mind and neither of you is conversant enough in Sith philosophy to make decent arguments about it.”

“I am well aware of the contents of the Sith code,” said Satele, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“Ah, yes,” said Aquinea. “And in the end, that’s the real problem isn’t it? All the things you think you know.”

The words teased Cullen for the rest of the trip. They intruded when he meditated, hovering at the edge of his thoughts when he was awake. It turned out that Aquinea was a master of the art of table conversation. She would keep conversation light, flowing, and ultimately meaningless, no matter how often he or Satele might try to lead the conversation to topics that might interest the Order or the Republic itself.

He watched Republic soldiers escort her off of Satele’s ship, her head held high despite the manacles and muzzle, and the jeering viciousness of the crowds that had come to see a captured Dark Lord of the Sith, and he couldn’t help but wonder at those words.

 _All the things you_ think _you know._


	2. Dorian:  Korriban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Careful, Dorian, your inner Aquinea is showing.”
> 
> “Uncle, if the worst thing that can be said of me is that I’m like my mother, I shall count myself blessed by the old gods.”
> 
> “She would be very proud of you.”
> 
> Dorian stopped the recording with an annoyed snap of his wrist. “What does that pride matter? She’s dead.”

“Dorian, my son!”

“Lord Pavus,” Dorian said in response to the familiar voice, not looking up as he rubbed comforting circles on the back of the infant in his arms. “I believe there is an order in effect stating that you are not allowed within a thousand feet of me, so you should take your leave.”

“Is that any way to speak of your father?”

“I have no father.” He turned toward the open hatch of his mother’s starship, giving his mother’s droid a small shake of his head. It wasn’t safe for the other children to come out, not if station security had failed so egregiously in its duty.

“Dear boy, will you never forgive me for decisions I made in rage before you were even born?”

“Ah! A fair question, even if it is a foolish one. Let me consider it for a moment…” Dorian looked at the man who had fathered him. Lord Pavus was tall – taller than Dorian, though not by much, and heavier set. Red-gold eyes shone, resonating with Dark energy, eyes lined with kohl to disguise the beginnings of dark corruption. The man had dressed to impress, wearing black robes of some heavy, natural silk; the hems and cuffs densely embroidered with sigils and runes that screamed of blood and power to Dorian’s senses. Lord Pavus was everything his mother had come to despise about their own people, and he flaunted it as though he believed it a lure. Dorian made a small show of thinking before shaking his head. “No, Lord Pavus. I don’t believe that I will. I’ve no need to forgive you, you see, as I have no need of you in my life. Now, I will ask again that you leave of your own volition, before I call security.”

“Dorian, Dorian, Dorian. That agreement with your mother only held so long as she lived…”

Dorian forced himself not to react, only betraying his shock with a slight flex of his hands, causing the baby in his arms to whimper.

“Oh,” said the man who had fathered him, malice dripping from his smile. “Had you not heard? Your mother was captured by the Republic while you were enroute from… wherever you were. The Republic had the _gall_ to put her on trial for what they called ‘war crimes’ and we’re told that her execution was well attended by all manner of their military élite.”

Dorian shifted his grip, cradling the girl upright against his chest in order to free his hand.

“Void and stars!” another voice bellowed from across the hangar bay. His uncle Lucian strode in, wrapped in torn and stained spacer’s garb but no less regal for it. The richness of his father’s garb seemed tawdry in comparison. “Pavus, get the fuck away from my nephew and out of my shuttle bay.”

“My son will be coming with me, Lucian.”

“You have no son, Pavus. You declared yourself a cuckold and my sister a harlot when she petitioned the Dark Council for a divorce.”

“So many years, and still you hold that against me?” His father gave a small sigh. “Her accusations against me were ridiculous – they should never have been granted an audience. But I wanted to give her what she wanted, so what else was I supposed to do? She was the one who wanted to leave, it was only fair that she be the one to suffer. I never meant that I would not claim a child conceived while we were married.”

“An odd claim,” said Dorian, brittle, “from the man who insisted that the child she carried at the time could be no get of his. I’ve read the transcripts you know. A pity that we resemble one another so closely, since it shows you for the liar you are.”

“As the babe in your arms proves my point about your mother’s unbridled promiscuity, my boy. But surely _now_ you can let bygones be bygones.”

“Get out,” uncle Lucian growled, the words reverberating in the Force. “I won’t tell you again. You have no son, and even if you did, the boy is a _Thalrassian_ and as such under my protection.”

“Much good it will do him, if this is how you protect your House, Lucian. Your sister birthing out of wedlock, dying far from home in the hands of the Republic – the boy would be better off with me and you know it.”

Dorian heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting.

“You will leave, Pavus, unless you wish to die here and now for the insult.”

“As if you could defeat me. But, no matter – I will raise the question with the Dark Council. His mother may be being painted as a patriot on the evening news cycle; a Dark Lord of the Sith refusing to break under the pathetic interrogation of Republic Senators and Jedi, protecting Imperial interests to her last breath, but I know the truth. She was nothing more than a pathetic bookworm, so caught up in what she called the ‘old ways’ that she was ripe for plucking, or should I say _fucking_?”

Uncle Lucian brought his lightsaber up, the blade flashing a clear and bright green-shaded white. “My sister was _Sith_ , and more true to our people than you’ve ever been – or will be.”

“Be silent, both of you,” Dorian bit out. “Lord Pavus, you have been asked to leave, and I’ll thank you never to speak of my mother in my presence again. In fact, it would be best that you refrain from indulging your desire to see my most illustrious person – because the next time you attempt to speak to me, _I will destroy you._ ”

Dorian had no weapon, just an infant cradled to his chest in one arm and a fist full of red-wreathed lightning. Lord Pavus’ golden eyes widened as Dorian manifested his will, power dancing along his fingers.

“I will not tell you again,” Dorian hissed. “Leave.”

“You’ve grown powerful my son. Perhaps… yes, for now it is meet that you remain with your mother’s family. Lucian will nurture your hate, and it will make you that much stronger.”

The rich approval in the man’s voice sickened Dorian, who wanted nothing more than to feel his mother’s arms around him. Lord Pavus turned, the heavy black silk of his robes flaring dramatically, and stalked out.

“Bastard.” Lucian’s arms wrapped around him and the babe. It wasn’t the embrace he wanted, but comforting enough. The low rumble of his uncle’s voice vibrated through Dorian, a promise of shelter, if not of safety. In the Empire, no one was safe. It was the one great equalizer.

Dorian snorted, bitter. “I’m fairly certain that _his_ parents were married at the time of his conception and birth.”

“You’re better off without him,” said Lucian. “She shouldn’t have married him to begin with.”

“So she said, and many times.” Dorian looked up. “Why did she?”

“Your mother loved him once, or at least she loved the man she thought he was.” Lucian let him go, taking the infant from his arms and cradling her. “What’s the little one’s name?”

“She doesn’t have one.” Dorian brushed a finger down the girl’s soft cheek, before stroking the pale golden hair that had begun to sprout on her head, so incongruous, yet perfect, with the sunset red of her skin. “The Adaari don’t name their young at birth, and Mother wanted to respect their ways.”

“I see,” said Lucian, eyebrow raised. “What of the rest of your companions, Dorian? Do they have names?”

Dorian looked toward the ship, giving a small, sharp nod. The hatch hissed open, revealing the survivors of the Jedi massacre on Adaarani. All that remained of the small colony of Force users was a handful of children, all of them quite young. When the attack began, Dorian had been tasked with their evacuation and survival. The order was given as his mother, still recovering from his sister’s birth, marshalled what defenses the enclave had. In an age past, the compound had been created with defensibility in mind, but as centuries had passed without interference by Jedi or Sith, the Adaari Adepts had become complacent.

Even when he and his mother had arrived on their world, a pureblooded Sith youth and a powerful Darth, they had not recognized that their isolation was clearly at an end, and it had cost them everything. All that was left of the peaceful balance of their ways was a dozen children, none yet in puberty.

Cariade, a pale-furred Cathar boy stepped forward, leading the lot of them down the ramp.

“Is it safe now?”

“No,” said Dorian. “We’re in the Empire, we’ll never be safe again.”

“Dorian,” Lucian reproved.

“Will you tell them that I’m lying?”

“No, but it isn’t as bad as all that.” The silver eyes that marked his family rose from their contemplation of Dorian’s sister. “You are all strong in the Force. In the Empire this marks you as both powers and servants. Neither position,” at this Lucian’s voice became wry and weary, “is one of safety.”

The children looked to Dorian, wide-eyed and frightened.

“This is my Uncle – Lucian Thalrassian, Lord Aquinea’s brother. He’s agreed to give us sanctuary.”

“I would like to offer more than that,” said Lucian. “I would like to offer you a home, and the Thalrassian name.”

“Adoption?” It took effort not to squeak. Most of the children were neither purebloods nor human. Adaarani had been hidden – but not lost. Over centuries and millennia no few Force sensitives had found themselves there, fleeing from the Jedi and Sith alike, looking for another way.

“If they’re willing to have me as a parent or guardian.”

Dorian bit his lip, watching Lucian cradle his sister, cocooning her in a gentle net of the Force, surrounding her in comfort in a way that Dorian couldn’t have done. He was equal parts jealous and relieved. He adored the tiny scrap of effervescent life his mother had fled the Empire to birth, despite the death, danger, and inconvenient feeding and shitting schedule.

Adored her and wasn’t equipped to care for her or the other children. He was nineteen, too old to be spared the summons to the Sith Academy, and too young to be considered independent of his Family.

“The little one, too?” he asked, even though he knew the answer to that. Without their mother to claim her, his sister was without Family and without recourse unless Lucian claimed her as his own. Lucian simply rolled his eyes, cuddling the girl closer to his chest.

“I don’t understand,” said Cariade. “You’d make us family?”

“You _are_ all family,” Lucian said, kneeling so that he was eye to eye with the young cathar. “You gave my sister sanctuary, would have given my nephew and niece a home. How can I, in honor, do less?”

“We’re not Sith,” said Lea’lei, the little twi’lek girl coming up to take Cariade’s hand.

“Are you sure?” asked Lucian. “To be Sith is many things, little one. Perhaps we will find one that works for you. For now, be assured that I will care for you and protect you to the best of my ability, little one.”

Lea’lei nodded, the hand gripping Cariade’s clutching so tight that her sky-pale skin seemed almost white.

Lucian stood. “Come, it’s time to go home.”

Dorian followed along, allowing the youngest children to clamber up upon his back and take hold of his legs, seeking the comfort of touch. He did his best to shield them from the disquiet that roiled in his soul. His uncle was correct, of course – to be Sith was many things. Once it had meant a pursuit of perfection, or so his mother had believed.

Darth Saaraij – the Sith Lord of Truth, so named by the Dark Council for her work excavating an ancient city on a river delta north and east of the Valley of the Dark Lords where the Sith Academy sat. It had once been a sprawling metropolis with an unpronounceable name lost to time. His mother had called it Qarinus on some whim she’d never explained, before building a base there for the Reclamation Service to begin work studying a past that had little to do with the Lords of the Sith.

The sprawling base housed a thousand researchers and the high walled estate granted to the Aquinea Thalrassian upon her ascension to the rank of Darth. Uncle Lucian had served as the chief administrator of the Qarinus base and de facto head of the Thalrassian family on Korriban ever since Dorian’s mother had been called back to Dromund Kaas to serve under Darth Thanaton as one of the directors of Reclamation Service explorations in Sith controlled space.

It had been years since Dorian had last been to Qarinus, since he’d been _home_. And once there, he had little doubt that he would leave it – walking the modern path of the Sith because there was no choice. The children had to be protected; his _sister_ had to be protected, and to do that he had to have the strength, the _power_ to be free of the machinations of the Order and the Empire, to serve as he saw fit.

“Dorian?”

“Yes, Elanarie?” He hefted the tiny human girl up onto his hip, frowning a bit as he realized how light the girl had gotten in the month it had taken them to skirt the damnable Republic and enter Sith-held space. She shoved her face against his neck, burrowing close in the chill air of the station.

“Will he love us?” The words brushed across his skin, a fragile web that held him as strongly as the gravity of a star. Dorian stroked her back, nuzzling the fine, golden hair at her temple.

“We are Sith,” he said, just loud enough to carry to all of the children, feeling something bright and shining swell and break inside of him, filled with Darkness and with Light. “We will love you until the stars gutter and the universe stills. You are family. You are ours to love and protect.”

“Okay.” Small arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she peeked up, the Sith gold of her eyes bright in her pale face. “Love you, too, Dorian.”

They boarded the shuttle with little fanfare, all of them subdued in the face of their ordeal. Dorian settled in, Elanarie snug in his lap, and fell asleep, hoping that the trust his mother had put in her brother was not misplaced.

-0-

 

Dorian watched the recording of his mother’s sentencing by so-called Republic _justice_. True to his father’s words, his mother had been convicted of what some jumped up hypocrite of a Jedi called _war crimes,_ and the murder of Jedi Master Meredith Stannard.

It sickened him. It made him _angry_.

“How remarkable their evidence is,” he said, as a Jedi Master named Yonlach dropped a heavy lightsaber hilt in front of her, citing it as proof that his mother was in the Darkest communion with the Force.

“Ignite it,” the old man demanded while his mother stared up at him, impassive but for the faintest sneering curl of her lips.

“No.”

Dorian paused the recording, staring at his mother’s face.

“It was foolish of them,” said Lucian, closing the study door quietly behind himself. “They spent days trying to get her to speak – to admit some form of guilt, but she only sat there, with that tiny, maddening smile. I do wonder what they would have done if she had taken up the blade. Cut her down on live Republic Holonet news? They could have, I suppose, and counted themselves justified.”

“It’s not even her blade,” Dorian seethed. “I’ve little doubt mother _could_ have ignited a blood blade if she’d wanted to. But I know that she didn’t – want to, I mean.”

“No,” said Lucian. “No, she didn’t. She never sought that kind of power.”

Dorian hummed to himself, turning the holo back on as the Jedi and the so-called _prosecutor_ continued to grandstand. He watched as Yonlach ignited the saber himself, describing the utter Darkness of the red-haloed black blade. The Jedi Master seemed oblivious to the fact that in lighting the blade he revealed the depth of his own corruption by the side of the Force he claimed to oppose.

“He’s a revered master,” Lucian observed neutrally. “I wonder if they think he’s protected by his mastery of the Light Side or if they’re truly so ignorant of what it is he holds.”

“They profess to love knowledge,” Dorian bit out, “but they abhor power. They cannot understand, because to do so would mean they seek what they claim to abjure.”

“We can use their ignorance to our advantage.” Lucian pulled up a chair. “You don’t have to watch this Dorian.”

“As if I would leave myself such a weakness.” Dorian resumed the playback, watching them fancifully describe how his mother must have cut an unarmed Master Stannard down, spinning a tale of how the peaceful Jedi Master would undoubtedly have attempted a non-violent resolution.

“Fair point. It was certainly not my intention that you’d find out about your mother from Pavus.”

“Has station security been thoroughly chastised for their failure?” Dorian leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and folding his hands above his abdomen.   “He should never have been _in_ our private hangar.”

“Council privilege,” said Lucian, lips puckered against the sour words. “He was visiting Thanaton – they’ve got some project or other. Doubtless he was present when your request for clearance was granted by the Council.”

“Ah.” Dorian watched the Jedi prodding his mother with vicious words, accusing her of the basest motives for going to Adaarani. “And he abused his privileges as Thanaton’s minion to gain access, no doubt.”

“In the sense that he persuaded the Council to allow him to verify that it was you upon the ship, and not just some random contingent of Jedi here to infiltrate the Academy. I’ve already received my verbal flogging for not allowing him proper access to you and the children, though Darth Marr was less than pleased to hear my report of Pavus’ actual actions.”

“I see. So no redress.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Marr is not a fan of Pavus and I doubt that he’s allowed his displeasure to remain unfelt.”

“How terribly unfortunate,” said Dorian with a small, pleased smile. Then he got a look at the holo, and scowled. There was a small human in the sort of body armor that many Jedi seemed to favor on the stand now. Dorian narrowed his eyes, considering. She looked familiar, with relatively short cropped dark hair and bright-beaded braid trailing beside her cheek.

“Knight Satele Shan,” Lucian noted, following his gaze. “A late arrival to the scene of the crime, as it were. She’s the one who took your mother into custody and evacuated ‘the only known survivor’ – a Jedi Padawan named Rutherford or some such nonsense.”

“Ah, yes,” said Dorian. “Sir Padawan! I was wondering if the poor boy had been consumed by the wildlife. It would have been such a shame to lose such a beauty to mindless beasts.”

“They’ll show a picture of him soon.” Lucian’s lips twisted, a kind of bitter admiration glinting off his teeth like poison. “There – in the custody of Jedi Healers. They claimed that your mother tampered extensively with his memory in order to try and hide the depravity and cruelty of her acts.”

“What? In the five minutes she knew him? That’s unutterably ludicrous. And since when do Sith try and hide such abominable behavior as mass murder?”

“Careful, Dorian, your inner Aquinea is showing.”

“Uncle, if the worst thing that can be said of me is that I’m like my mother, I shall count myself blessed by the old gods.”

“She would be very proud of you.”

Dorian stopped the recording with an annoyed snap of his wrist. “What does that pride matter? She’s dead.”

“A martyr to the Empire. You know that the Council wants to use your rescue of the children and her refusal to submit to their questioning or judgement to their advantage. The Republic made certain that we would see the broadcast of their trial –”

“And, what?”

“The rumors immediately began to spread that there was no way that a powerful Sith Lord – especially not one like your mother – would allow themselves to be captured unless there was a reason for it.”

“And so they want to, what, award her brave and loyal sacrifice for the Empire?” Dorian tilted his head back, staring up at the beautiful glass mosaics that covered the ceiling in colorful abstract designs. He sighed. “Of course they do. Soldiers sacrifice themselves every day in this blasted war. Jedi are frequently seen spending their lives. There’s rarely any kind of equivalence from the Order.”

The political calculus was easy to compute, though Dorian hated it. “Ending the morale advantage the Republic has by calling them on their actions. There’s video of the attack by the Jedi. I wasn’t able to salvage a lot before we ran, but there’s likely information we can use.”

“Good, good,” said Lucian. “Excellent, in fact. The Republic will denounce it as fabrication of course, but within the Empire it will be seen as what it is. Neutral worlds will doubt – and those who manage to see it within the Republic will wonder. More than that, it will give your foundlings standing, at least long enough for me to make a reasonable bid for their care.”

Dorian grimaced. “I don’t like using them.”

“Nor do I. In the long run it makes them more enemies than friends, but for now it will give them the alliances they need.”

“Oh, that I understand, uncle, truly.” Dorian closed his eyes, letting the rage and frustration wash over him in a tide. Tears came, unbidden and unwanted, and he let them fall in blood warm streams to soak into his hair. The Force churned around him, a maelstrom of power begging to be unleashed.

_No._ Dorian thought. _Now is not the time._

He felt the Force surge against his skin, against his soul, like a felinoid rubbing against his ankles in welcome, marking him. It settled beside him, a great and purring beast, leashed as tightly to him as he was to it and he thought of his mother’s odd turn of phrase. _May the Force stand ever at your side._

Dorian felt his uncle’s satisfaction as the roil of power subsided, content but not obedient. He lifted his head, turning to look at his mother’s brother, brow-ridge arching high.

“You seem rather pleased.”

“Indeed I am. Your control is remarkable.”

“Peace is a lie,” said Dorian. “There is always passion boiling below the surface, no matter what the Jedi say. Better to know that one has merely poured oil atop bubbling water than be surprised when the pot boils over and then catches fire when left on high heat.”

Lucian smirked at him. “And Jedi wonder why they Fall.”

“I don’t. It is well to cultivate _calm_ , or so Mother said, since unbridled behavior serves neither us nor the Force.”

“Good,” said Lucian. “ _Very_ good. You’ll need that soon.”

“The Academy.”

“Yes. A courier arrived earlier, with an invitation on high-quality flimsiplast.”

“The sort suitable for framing?”

“Indeed. It bears the signature of Darth Marr.”

“Odd,” said Dorian.

“I believe your grandfather felt you should know that your attendance isn’t optional.”

“I was always going to attend,” the words stung as they passed his lips, barbs that nettled him far more than his uncle.

“I am sorry for it,” said Lucian. “I would rather pass you straight into an apprenticeship, but your mother hadn’t arranged for one and with the war…”

“Yes?”

“The Council recently passed a resolution that all Force Sensitives be sent to the Academy for evaluation. Even those who already have masters waiting are being sent to the Academy for ranking – or culling.”

“Whyever for?”

“Regardless of what the Imperial media would have us believe, the war is not going especially well. Our military is a fine machine, but our best warriors are Sith.”

“And Darth Malgus spends both like water.” A simple fact that had governed much of Dorian’s life. He was Sith: it was his honor to serve the Empire and its people. “Why do we not simply consolidate our gains and rebuild?”

“We have not yet eliminated the Republic or the Jedi.”

Dorian considered that. The simply stated goal of the Empire and of the Order – the utter destruction of the enemies that had brought them to the brink of extinction. The Republic had set the terms when they chose to wage a genocidal war, in truth they should be grateful that Empire’s response was one of _conquest_ , not wholesale xenocide.

He _tsked_.

“A noble goal, to be sure,” Dorian said. “But I cannot believe that we’re required to be stupid about it. Jedi Fall _so_ easily, there are many who would prefer the order of the Empire to the chaos of the Republic. It would make far more sense to use a longer timeframe to bring our plans into fruition.”

“It is not for us to decide,” said Lucian. “Though you’re welcome to try and plead that case to the Dark Council.”

“Er. No. That’s quite alright. I’m sure wiser heads do, in fact, prevail.”

“Perhaps. However one looks at it, we are in need of Sith. The Empire is relaxing the requirements for entry to the Academy. Those that survive and succeed on the front lines are bypassing the usual hurdles to being named a Lord of the Sith.”

Dorian pinched his nose. “So anyone who shows Force sensitivity, I suppose.”

_“Everyone_ who shows sensitivity. You will find the Academy’s walls crowded Dorian. Many will be like you, children of Sith who were born to take on the mantle. Those who already have training and control, who are themselves allies to the Force – but more will be sensitives who have been pulled from their previous lives, regardless of their aptitude for the Order.” Lucian scowled. “The Trials should not be inflicted on everyone, but no one is willing to listen to objections to this plan.”

“I see,” said Dorian. “Is this the reason why you’re so intent on adopting the others?”

“In part.” Lucian’s pale eyes flashed with power. “Your mother died to give you all what freedom she could. The Empire may shackle all of us to its purposes, but I will see to it that her desires are honored. I will see you all trained well enough to find your passions and free yourselves and survive the doing.”

“And spread quiet sedition while you’re at it, if I’m not mistaken.”

Lucian sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands rest in a loose fall, fingers down. His gaze turned toward the window that looked out over Qarinus, showing the excavated streets and districts, researchers bustling about the site and the base at all hours of day and night.

“We are what we are, we Sith. There are those who fret about blood purity – as though there is any purity in a species created through magic and alchemy! – but the old ways persist. I’ve spent over a decade studying who we once were, before the Jedi came and changed everything, and there is much we should embrace.” Lucian shook his head. “ _Izkeon sithas, buti sith_. Pursue perfection, be Sith. _Malsini centruoti threxia ardyti’zilti._ It is the calm center that directs the maelstrom. We are more than the monsters either Order would make us.”

“You’ll get us all killed, that or change the galaxy.” Dorian sighed, amused and rueful. “Where do I sign up?”

-0-

It was hard to keep that thought, that one day they might change the Empire from within. Dorian’s entry into the academy was both more and less and different from what he had expected. Tests of skill – of strength and power, these he had expected. Being handed a flimsy training blade and told to make his way through the local fauna that infested a nearby tomb he had not. There was a small camp at the entrance to the tomb, where a small cadre of soldiers and Reclamation Service officers had a base. The archaeologists cheerfully showed him their findings when he asked, artlessly confiding the safest paths upward in their nattering. The soldiers were less forthcoming, accustomed both to potential acolytes asking for aid and their own standing orders to offer no assistance.

Even so, those orders didn’t prevent one of them from offering Dorian very _personal_ Service, lust and greed shining in hazel-green eyes. Power came from passion, a simple transmutation that allowed him to bury his hands in dark blond hair as he fucked that young soldier’s throat, husbanding the energy for later use. He spent the remainder of the night tormenting his willing servant with pleasure, harvesting the purity of his passion and distracting the soldier from the plot that lurked behind the sly eyes.

It wasn’t hard to taste the intention on the soldier’s skin; to weaken, to hinder, to slow. Only acolytes like Dorian, who had been raised in the Force and the ways of the Order would know how to use the offered mouth and hands to raise power instead of squander it. Dorian had little doubt that if he were to take food or drink from the soldier’s hands, he would find it laced with any number of small poisons that would weaken a Force user but do little to the Force blind.

It was clever. It was insidious. It was _abominable_.

It was, as Lucian would doubtless have pointed out, _utterly Sith._

Just as it was utterly Sith for Dorian to sup at a poisoned table, taking what power he could and leaving a young soldier insensate and semen stained on a filthy floor, surrounded by bones and withered flesh. If the soldier was lucky, he’d be found by a patrol instead of a K’lor slug. If he wasn’t – well.

Dorian wasn’t a complete monster. He’d left his little trap with his pants and his blaster, so he’d have even odds if he woke before anyone – or anything – found him.

Dark power sang in Dorian’s blood, rich and heady as he made his way downward, resolved to prove a point.   The tomb, the friezes of which boasted of the glory of the ancient Lord of the Sith, Ajunta Pall, was an efficient meatgrinder, one indifferent to class or station. No doubt the ancient Lord would be pleased with the death and destruction. The halls were littered with bodies, acolyte and soldier alike, purebloods and aliens laying side-by-side, equal in death in a way the Empire would never have allowed in life, but all Dorian could see was the waste of it.

Rage filled Dorian’s belly, wreathing the great, pacing beast of his power with Darkness and flame. He headed down, toward the nests, unleashing his anger and disappointment upon the hapless slugs and their young. Insectoid screams rang in his ears Dorian burned out the breeding grounds with the power of his will alone. He found no pleasure in the destruction, but there was a deep satisfaction in it.

He left the rickety practice blade on his back, instead drawing his mother’s lightsabers from his carry sack. Blaster fire echoed down to him, in sharp heavy bursts that spoke of suppression fire and he ran upward, igniting the blades as he reached the top of the stairwell.

A wave of k’lor slugs, their giant maggot-like bodies surging in an uneven tide of chitin and teeth, bore down upon the soldiers’ barricade. Dorian laughed, darkly delighted that his prey would come to him, and leapt. The Force carried him in a spinning leap, the concussion of his power blowing the creatures back. He could feel the soldier’s surprise as he began the dance, white blades singing with every blood-soaked footstep. The grotesque horde regrouped, focusing its violent intent upon him, the hunger and bloodlust of the k’lor slugs merging into a great, devouring darkness.

He whirled, blades spinning as he moved. Lightning danced atop his skin, purple and gold as it exploded out in a deadly cascade.

“I could do this all day,” the words sang out, joyous and terrible, as he butchered his way through the ravening mass. Another wave appeared, as though summoned by the cloying power released by each death. Dorian drank it in, letting it fuel the slaughter as he met each chittering, screaming mass. Behind him, terror and awe fountained up in brilliant glory, soldiers and scientists alike falling to their knees and calling out to him.

He reached out in the Force, sweeping for the alien minds of the slugs, before turning and saluting the ragged band that knelt in weeping awe. “It is my honor, to protect and to serve.”

“Sith.”

“Sith.”

“Sith.”

The word tumbled over itself in sweet susurration as Dorian turned, heading out and up, sweeping away everything in his path. There was a dark and terrible joy to it, the seemingly endless slaughter. He could hear his mother cautioning him of the pull of _ardyti’netvarka_ , the destructive chaos that devoured all. It was part of the Dark side, just as the _jviete’dresuoti_ , the heartless emptiness, was part of the Light.

_It will lure you, as it does us all. There is a power in death, in uncontrolled passion, that is a heady liquor._ Her lips had taken an ironic tilt then. _No matter what they tell you of the Jedi, there is also power in self-control, in peace and calm. Emptiness – calm dissociation – has its own, very powerful attraction. Be wary of both. To be nothing more than a raving mass of desire is no more advantageous than being an empty shell that cares for nothing. Seek always the maalzjin’senthru, as our ancestors did, my son._

He cleared the last of the beasts, burning the gathered energy in a flamboyant display of both power and control. The Force surged, like a great beast, not seeking freedom so much as companionship as it danced in shades of red and gold, more like fire than that lightning most Sith were known for.

“Unexpected,” came an odd, lilting drone. “It wants him to lead and yet follow. Partnership.”

“Indeed,” a deeper voice boomed.

Dorian glanced toward the open door, through which he could see the gaping maw of the Academy shining beneath indifferent stars. Two figures, stood just inside the archway, draped in heavy silk robes. One hid his face within an unnecessarily deep cowl, while the other went barefaced, his pureblood status stamped upon the wine-red of his skin for all to see.

“Oh, hello!” said Dorian, as obnoxiously cheerful as he knew how to be. “Were you wanting an opportunity to kill these ridiculous creatures? I do apologize, as I’m fairly certain these are the last, at least inside. If I’d known that other people were coming to the party, I’d have been certain to save a few of the canapés for others, but alas, I thought it a celebration for one.”

“No,” said the bare-headed pureblood, lifting a hand to hold his companion in silence. “We are merely here to observe.

Dorian raised a brow. “Is that so? I bet you say that to all the acolytes.”

“Only those our master has expressed some interest in.”

“Oh, indeed?” Dorian gave the sith a bright, feral smile. “I do so enjoy being admired, though granted it’s usually for my wit and charm.”

“He is not the one,” said the other, in that odd, ethereal drone. “He is the other. And another. Powerful but not strong. They will be stronger together.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Dorian.

“Ah, do not mind him. He is often lost in vision.” The barefaced one studied him for a moment. “We will be watching you, truth’s son.”

With that, they left, leaving Dorian gore stained and confused.

“Bully for me then, I suppose.” He shook his head and exited into the chill and forbidding night. The entrance to the Academy loomed before him, a gape-mouthed edifice of ruddy stone.   Ancient steps lolled out, timeworn and dripping, into the silt-fine sand that pooled blood red between tomb and cliff. Dorian glared up at the cliff face that cradled the Academy’s bulk with bony fingers, disgusted with the corrupted Darkness that wells outward, in thick noisome tendrils that writhed in traps for the unwary.

If the _ardyti’netvarka_ has a place it manifested, it was here, in the heart of the Order the Empire took so much pride in. Little wonder so many who trained here seemed to go mad, if this was the kind of Darkness they were submerged in.

A bridge of bloodstained stone crossed the chasm between the slender archway into the topmost chamber of the tomb, the once sharp edges softened by time and ceaseless gritty winds. Foul chittering echoed up from below him, and Dorian imagined he could hear the chitinous mass of slugs writhing angrily below, enraged by the loss of their brethren.

He crossed the bridge, seeking the calm center of his rage and disgust, but allowing his emotions sufficient range that they swirled about him like a shield, batting away the grotesque reaching of the Academy’s Darkness.

“My lord?”

A young twi’lek in a shock collar met him as he passed into the red-lit maw of the entrance, the sanguinary lights that lit the Imperial Sigil flanked with star-bright white. She looked at him, then down to the datapad in her hand, before stitching a smile to her lips that echoed hollow and false in amethyst eyes. The girl was shapely, and dressed for personal Service, clearly meant as an offering to blunt bloodlust and carnal cravings that might be roused by indiscriminate slaughter. He could part the fluttering ribbons of her silken skirt and shove anything he liked in her, cock or blade, and at worst be fined for any damage done to Academy property.

Inwardly he sighed. The pandering to him, to his family, had begun.

“What is it, my dear?” He kept his voice light, a cheerful pleasantry at odds with the blood and viscera that dripped rather disgustingly from his everything.

“I… I’m here to guide you to your assigned rooms, if you wish it.”

“Would these rooms have a bath? Or a standing ’fresher, I’d accept a shower in lieu of a mound of fragrant bubbles… Which, I suppose I should indulge in whether or not a tub of water is available. It would be rather a shame to ruin the joy of a good bath with insect guts, don’t you think?”

“I do not know, by lord.”

“Which? Whether or not there’s a bath available, or if soaking in slug guts sounds rather appalling?”

She blinked at him and a small giggle escaped her. “You’re a pure blood, my lord. You have been assigned a private suite. I believe you will find both sonics and a water shower, at the least.”

“That sounds marvelous, my dear,” he smiled at her and she recoiled slightly, which Dorian thought was quite sensible of her. People who were cheerful about being covered in blood were people who likely should be treated with a great deal of caution. “Have you a name that I might call you?”

“You may call me whatever you wish my lord.”

“Ah, no, my dear. That’s not how this kind of conversation works, at least not with me.” He wagged a finger at her. “I ask you for your name, because it is my hope you have one, although I have met slaves so poorly treated that they weren’t given that much respect – and I must say that I have issues with that. We may all of us be in bondage to the Empire and its people, but that is no reason to treat those with the greatest number of chains to break as though they have no dignity!”

She stared at him, a curious fascination sliding over her features as he huffed.

“In any case, you give me your name – or a name you wish to be called – and I tell you to call me Dorian. Then, of course, you argue with me about the propriety of referring to me in such a way.” He sighs. “You ultimately win the argument, although I might get you to concede either to ‘Master Dorian’ or ‘Lord Dorian’ and both of us feel more cheerful about the relationship.”

“My lord, you are very strange,” she told him. “And you may call me Ainyn’a.”

“Well, yes, of course I’m strange! Strange and wonderful, and absurdly handsome, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure I have no opinion, my Lord,” she said, rolling her eyes before freezing.

“Ah, ah!” he chortled. “Perfect! I prefer honesty, dear Ainyn’a. I hope that we will continue to use it with one another.”

“As you wish… My Lord Dorian. If you will follow me.”

She led him first to the office of the quartermaster, where Dorian found, to his surprise, one of his uncle’s mercenary employees waiting with a variety of boxes and an irritated-looking human waving a datapad.

“—I don’t give a fuck about your Master’s orders you filthy alien freak. If I tell you that you can leave this shit with me and I’ll see it delivered to an acolyte’s chambers, you’ll sign it over and get out of my office!”

“Boss,” said the armored creature, staring the flunky down. “Lord Thalrassian is my _boss_ , not my owner. I’m sure you can tell the difference between a free Mandalorian and an expensive slave.”

“Bull!” Dorian called. He’d yet to get the mercenary to tell him _what_ his species was – Dorian had never heard of a creature that so looked like a bipedal herd creature, if one discounted the teeth and the four-fingered hands – but it hardly mattered in the face of the people who’d accepted him. Bull was a Mandalorian, a member of a warrior people that fought for glory and honor. “Mandalorians are anything but free. Costly assholes, the lot of you.”

“Hey, Dorian! Look at all that blood – someone’s been having a good time.” Bull – who said that his real name was entirely unpronounceable, so he called himself ‘The Iron Bull’ – waved at him. “Boss said that I should deliver your crap directly to you, was he wrong? This _di'kut_ seems to think it’s okay to just leave it here.”

The _di’kut_ in question looked at Dorian and paled. “I’m sorry my lord, I didn’t realize it was for _you_.”

“Except, yanno, for the part where I told you.”

Utter loathing sat on the man’s face and writhed until it was near impossible to tell he was human. It was worth the price of getting covered in guts to see it.

“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’m told that there’s some cleansing in my future, so perhaps we should just be grateful that I’m here now to take possession of my goods and presumably receive both my rooming assignment and my uniforms.”

Bull gave him a look – Dorian had no idea how he managed to leer, given the long snout and side-set eyes – as the human twitched, indignant and frightened all at once. “At… at once, sir.”

“Honestly,” said Dorian as the man fled into the back offices once Dorian had signed everything that needed signing. He waved the remaining stack of flimsies dramatically. “You’d think I was the scariest thing to come through here, and I _know_ that both Darth Malgus and Darth Marr spend a great deal of time in this complex.”

“That little demonstration you gave in Kaas City when those fools tried to kill the kids was pretty memorable, sith-boy.”

“Hardly a boy, Bull. I am of age you know.”

“If you say so, sith-boy. So, is the pretty lady going to lead us?”

“I believe it is her assigned task.”

“I am meant to be whatever you need, my lord,” Ainyn’a told them, her voice light and sweet.

Bull laughed, hauling the hoversled filled with boxes behind him.

“Lady, if you want to be _whatever_ he needs, you’ll need to grow a dick.”

“Bull, I’ve never made it a practice to be _whatever_ with those who cannot consent,” objected Dorian as they wove their way through what felt like endless halls and stairs. “Even if I or my uncle owned slaves, I would not take such advantage.”

“Yeah, yeah, sith with principles.”

“My lord? Do I not please you?”

“Of course you do, my dear. You’re lovely and graceful. Not my type, as Bull is well aware, though he’s not my type either.”

“Oh.” She motioned to the door identical to every door on the hallway. “If you wish, I can have another come up for your Service, my lord.”

“My dear, I appreciate the offer, but I meant it when I said I don’t have sex with slaves. There’s no need to risk you coming to injury for a reality you can’t control.”

“Uh, Dorian?”

“Yes, Bull?”

“Maybe it ain’t so smart to tell the girl she can’t get close to you,” said Bull, as a variety of individuals slid out of the shadows, training blades alight with energy.

“Ah, Bull, she wasn’t actually planning to kill me in my bed,” said Dorian, rolling his eyes. He ignited his mother’s lightsabers, causing a few of their potential assailants to step back. “You know, I _am_ a bit tired, it’s made me a bit foolish, but not so much that I can’t handle you all, you realize.”

“New meat,” hissed one of the cloaked and hooded figures. “You won’t find killing us so easy as killing a few slugs.”

“Dear one, never let it be said that I am an underachiever. I killed _all_ the slugs. They’ll have to import more.”

“Fucking purebloods,” said another. “Always so arrogant. Tell your slave to stay out of it and maybe we’ll let it live.”

“Hey, now,” said Bull. “What is it with you guys and the inability to tell the difference between an employee and a slave?”

Dorian yawned. “Are we going to fight or are you just going to stand there posturing?”

“Kill him,” said Ainyn’a, pulling the slave-collar off. “None of the cameras in this hall function, no one will link it back to you.”

“As you like,” said Dorian, letting the Force carry him in a leap to her side, “but I imagine I’ll have questions for you later.”

The surge of lightning he used to knock her unconscious wasn’t kind, but it was _extremely_ effective.

“Aw, _nonlethal?_ You’re breaking my heart,” said Bull, lashing out with one hand and grabbing one of their attackers to use as an improvised weapon, using the hapless acolyte as a battering ram to knock over a few of his comrades.

“So sorry to disappoint,” Dorian huffed, hurling the blades in a blur of white, letting them fly in a neat arc that removed limbs before returning to his hands. “I do understand that you’re at a disadvantage, you great lummox, so if you _need_ to kill… Well, I would advise these cowardly idiots to run, while they still can.”

One flashed him a hateful glare, holding the bleeding stump of her wrist. “You’ll pay, _Pavus_.”

He fled, the most cowardly of his compatriots following, and Bull laughed, turning his eyes on the remainder. “Excellent. It’s always nice to see that some people can stay bought.”

The rest of the fight was short and brutal. Dorian was well aware that the rules of the Academy forbade the killing of other acolytes, but said nothing on grievous injury. He felt no guilt as he stood over the shattered bodies of his assailants, knowing full well that they would likely have preferred death over what was to come.

The Overseers of the Academy probably would not care in the least about the attack, only that it failed, and the Overseers had little enough use for failures. If they were lucky, they’d die within a few days. If they weren’t, well, Darth Malgus had an unending need for fodder.

And, of course, there was Ainyn’a, her unconscious form now spattered with blood. Dorian looked down at her and then slipped the shock collar back onto her neck and activated it.

“You know I ain’t here as a bodyguard, right?”

“Yes, Bull. I do appreciate the help, though.”

“Most fun I’ve had in months. Do you suppose they’ll bleed out if we leave ’em there?”

“No,” said Dorian. “I expect the Overseers will be here soon. The one that fled, she’ll report the fight and try to get me into trouble for murder on my very first night.”

“Great, just great. I was hoping to make the late shuttle to the station.”

“I’m sure I can put you up for the night.”

“…so you claim that this new Acolyte lured you and your friends here, to a corridor where the cameras don’t work, with the intention of killing you?” The calm voice that echoed up from the hall was smooth and rich, and utterly non-committal. “And that you barely escaped.”

“Yes, Overseer Tremel,” said a pained voice.

“Ah, here we are, the site of such inglorious slaughter.” Dark eyes swept over them all. “Ah, I see. Welcome to the Academy, acolyte. Already your legend begins to spread – the soldiers in the Tomb have been most voluble about your power and success.”

“So I should imagine,” said Dorian, wishing it were reasonable to make a show of buffing his nails, but smearing blood into his nail beds sounded appalling. “Our soldiers are valuable people, my Lord Overseer, and it was my pleasure to give them some small assistance.”

“They are valuable,” said Tremel flatly. “They and not your fellow acolytes? It seems to me that your fellow Sith should be of greater worth to you.”

“Yes, well – I did spare their lives once they chose to attack me, I wasn’t obligated to do so, after all.” Dorian waved around them. “This slave girl met me and lured me here, doubtless at someone’s behest, although whose I have no idea.”

“He lies!” The cowl on the tattle-tale’s cloak fell back, revealing olive green skin and intricately tattooed lekku. “He… he’s the one who lured us down.”

“Silence, alien filth,” Tremel backhanded the young twi’lek woman, sending her to her knees before his blade snapped into existence, severing both lekku and head in a single powerful blow. “I’ve no use for these mixed bloods. I can only applaud your choice to cleanse the academy of those you met, though I could wish that you had simply finished the job.”

“I thought it might be prudent to question them.”

“Mmmmm. Yes. I suppose a few rounds with the training Inquisitors should be sufficient.” Tremel’s mouth curled in distaste. “The slave girl – is she yours?”

“Alas, no,” said Dorian. “Pretty little thing like that? It’s a shame I don’t. But Mother – I believe you may have known her?”

“Darth Saaraij, lovely Sith, and a great loss to the Empire,” said Tremel.

“Mother wasn’t fond of the practice, although I think that may have been more because we were so constantly on the move.”

“Yes, well,” said Tremel, moving over to Ainyn’a. “In truth, I believe this is one of the slave acolytes, one with an actual modicum of power. It’s a shame about her species, she’s certainly strong enough that had she a pedigree I would insist she be bred. There are many that might feel the _Draw_ if exposed to her.”

Dorian clenched his teeth, managing to keep a disinterested smile upon his face. “Yes, quite. It’s _such_ a shame, finding such powerful Force sensitives among non-human species.”

“Indeed it is. It appalls me that we are required to admit them at all, when they are otherwise so inferior,” Tremel agreed, apparently missing the sarcasm. “But needs must, and the aliens make for such excellent fodder. So far few even survive to claim Malgus’ reward of being named a Lord of the Sith, I suppose I must acknowledge that the ones that do must be superior members of their species.”

“What will you do with her?” Dorian gestured to Ainyn’a. “She should be questioned.”

“She should be sent back to the pens,” said Tremel with a grimace. “Perhaps she would learn her place.”

“Seems a bit excessive to me, boss,” said Bull.

“No one asked you,” snapped Tremel. “Bizarre creature that you are. But as entertaining as I find the idea, perhaps there’s a better one. Acolyte, on behalf of the Academy administration, I award you this… thing… to do with as you will.”

The older man pulled out a datapad, fingers dancing rapidly over its surface. “Ah, yes. Here she is – twi’lek slave found on Nar Shadda by Lord Erasthenes, servant of Darth Dirigent. Named Ainyn’a by her records, insists on calling herself Calpurnia. Now property of Dorian Pavus.”

“Thalrassian,” Dorian corrected him.

“Your father –”

“Disowned me before I was born.” Dorian gifted the man with his most cheerfully insincere smile. “I’m legally a bastard of my mother’s line.”

“Your father has stated many times that he wishes to claim you,” Tremel reproved.

“Well, that’s one chain that I don’t have to put on,” said Dorian, cheerfully. “I’ve quite gotten used to being a pariah. No reason to give up the freedom it brings.”

Bull choked on a laugh. The asshole.

“In any case, the girl is yours to do with as you will.” Tremel’s smile was as insincere as his own. “If you want her trained, you’ll have to provide the fees.”

“Hah!” Dorian laughed at that. “One way to boost the coffers, I suppose.”

Tremel frowned. “You wouldn’t see her educated, surely?”

“Of course I would. She’s clever and powerful: just the sort of thing the Order needs! Bull, would you be so kind as to add her to the current burden of your hover cart?” Dorian nodded to Tremel as a handful of Inquisitors glided into the corridor, eyes bright at the sight of blood. “We’ve still to find my assigned rooms, so I do hope you’ll excuse us.”

“You know where we’re going?”

“It’s actually in the information packet the quartermaster’s little underling gave me.” Dorian started walking back the way they’d come, taking a different turn and heading up the stairs to what appeared to be designated Sith housing.

“So you knew we were going the wrong way?”

“Well, it’s hardly standard service, is it?” asked Dorian. “Otherwise there’d be a _line_ of slaves waiting in the entrance. No, better to follow her knowing it was some form of trap. Obviously.”

“Sith,” said Bull, amusement and disgust gleaming in his one remaining natural eye. The cybernetic one seemed to refocus in a way that suggested sarcasm. “Always complicated.”

“The joy of life!” Dorian stopped at his door, checking the biometric lock for any of the usual traps. The ambush might’ve been a distraction, and his mother hadn’t raised a fool. It was hard to miss the dusting of a chemical Force inhibitor, and he rather strongly suspected that there was some kind of mechanical trap behind the smooth durasteel door.

Dorian grimaced. Fine Force control, which would allow him to clean the scanner without being affected, was not his strongest suit. Still, he was good enough to manage, after a minute or two of fumbling, to cleanse the area sufficiently. As to the rest…

“You should stand back,” said Dorian, calling up the strongest force shield he could manage – grateful once again for having the foresight to spend the previous night gathering energy, as his reserves were beginning to flag. He palmed the lock, entirely unsurprised to be hit by a swirling succession of powerful plasma bolts as the carbine behind the door went off with a fury.

“Fuck. You all right Dorian?”

“Fine,” Dorian gritted. The shield had done its job, absorbing most of the energy, but it hadn’t been perfect. It was nothing a standard medpac couldn’t fix, but still painful.

Bull pushed him aside, entering the room first.

“I thought you weren’t my bodyguard.”

“I ain’t your bodyguard, but Lord Lucian is good to me and my boys, so I’m not about to let you just get dead. Also, you’re a good guy, for a Sith. The Empire could use a few of those.”

Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Seems clear, unless they’ve poisoned your sheets or water, but I doubt it. Carbine’s a bit of a rush job – I don’t think they thought you’d get here this quick.”

Bull let him enter before maneuvering the hoversled into the room. Dorian shucked his outer robes, tossing them haphazardly toward the recycle chute and frowning at the bodily fluids that had managed to seep far enough down to stain his shirt. He tossed that toward the recycler as well, trying to ignore the dried blood that managed to stain the skin of his chest.

He poked his head into the refresher, feeling quite pleased to find he _had_ been issued a room with a soaking tub large enough to entertain guests in, as well as a water/sonic enabled shower. He probed both with tendrils of the Force, but the purring presence that hovered nearby seemed content enough.

“Quartermaster – or at least that weaselly little assistant of his, I’d imagine. No wonder he was so unhappy to see you and afraid to see me.” He flicked on the hot water and set it filling the tub. “Not enough time to sabotage everything.”

“You got enemies, sith-boy.”

“Hardly a surprise,” said Dorian. “I fried a score of pureblood fanatics during that lunatic parade the Dark Council had us do to ‘celebrate’ my mother’s sacrifice and accomplishments. I did it on a live Imperial Holonet broadcast, because I’m a genius. I imagine my enemies to be a cast of thousands of brutally insignificant xenophobes, and several hundred much more powerful figures that could likely kill me in half a heartbeat if they wanted. The life of a noble pariah can be _so_ difficult.”

“And now you have a slave that wants to kill you.”

“Joy. I don’t suppose you’re willing to take her back to Qarinus with you? Lucian could do with an apprentice.”

“To live with the kids? You crazy?”

Dorian shook his head. “To become one of the kids – look, she’s got the potential to be powerful. That she survived this long shows that. But she could use a better mentor than whoever put her up to this.”

Bull grunted.

“They’re gonna think you’re weak.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to prove them wrong.” It wasn’t a happy smile that pulled his lips – it was a resigned one. Dorian knew he’d have to spend every day – every hour, every minute, prepared for the next ambush. The safety of his mother’s presence, the security of his family’s holdings… well, it was time to put away the notions of such childish things. “ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ , isn’t that what your people say? I think she’s worth it. I think they’re _all_ worth it. Every alien that we dismiss, enslave, marginalize – but in order to effect change, I have to be Sith. And. So. Win – or die. It’s the way of the Sith.”

“Should adopt you,” said Bull.

“What, Lucian?”

“No. Me. You’d make a kick-ass Mandalorian, attitude like that.”

“Spare my blushes, please. It would take such a shine off of my pariah-hood.”

“Fuck you, Dorian,” said Bull. “Get a bath, sith-boy, you stink. And we’re gonna have a chat about the detail I’m gonna put on you. Galaxy could use more Sith like you.”

“I appreciate the thought, my friend,” Dorian disagreed, heading into the ’fresher, “but like you said. They’d think me weak.”

“Ain’t weak to have someone protecting your back, _utreekov._ ” Bull sighed. “Get your bath, get some sleep. I’ll secure this one and call your uncle, let him know I’ll be delayed unless he sends a suborbital shuttle.”

Dorian opened his mouth and nothing came out. He snapped it shut and swallowed hard.

“Thank you, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -(Mandalorian stolen and/or adapted from http://www.mandoa.org/; Sith stolen and/or adapted from http://wiki.starsidergalaxy.com/index.php?title=Sith_language)  
> Discussion of slavery and all that implies
> 
> \--
> 
> Aliit ori'shya tal'din: (Mando’a) Family is more than blood. (Mandalorian aphorism)
> 
> ardyti’netvarka: (Sith) The destructive chaos
> 
> di’kut: (Mando’a) idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
> 
> izkeon sithas, buti sith: (Sith) Pursue perfection, be Sith.
> 
> jviete’dresuoti: (Sith) The heartless emptiness
> 
> maalzjin’senthru: (Ancient Sith) The center calm (also: they eye of the storm)
> 
> malsini centruoti threxia ardyti’zilti: (Sith) It is the calm center that directs the maelstrom


	3. Dorian:  Korriban, Alderaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s just another form of slavery?” Ainyn’a asked, incredulous.
> 
> “It has rather longer chains,” said Dorian, “but yes. It comes with quite a few more perks than the slavery you suffer with now, but a Sith is ever the property of the Empire and the Emperor.”

Lucian, as it turned out was delighted and horrified by the whole idea of adopting Dorian’s would-be assassin. He arrived in the morning, having abused his power as Qarinus’ administrator to fly down directly.

“It will have to be her choice,” he told Dorian. “And I can’t directly take this young woman as an apprentice.”

“Well, I don’t want her as a slave, uncle.” Dorian paced the room.

“Your mother spent too much time outside of the Empire,” Lucian reproved. “It’s led to some dangerous ideas in you.”

Dorian shot him a narrow-eyed look, and found a small apology in his uncle’s eyes. The Academy was hardly safe place to discuss the abolition of slavery. His lips quirked a tiny acknowledgement and he tilted his head, gesturing for his uncle to sit.

Bull brought her out of the second bedroom of the suite, an inventive tirade of mixed Huttese and Basic spilling from the young twi’lek’s mouth as she struggled against Bull’s strength.

“Calm down, would ya? Dorian ain’t gonna kill you or rape you or do anything particularly mean to you,” he shoved her down onto the small settee the apartment had come with. “You were the one who chose to put your collar back on.”

“I did not! It was –” she stopped, clearly abruptly aware of the rest of the room. Lucian waved a little at her, from where he lounged on the sofa, and Dorian snorted at the mix of fascination and fear that flooded Ainyn’a’s eyes. “It was no one I’m going to tell you about.”

“All right,” said Dorian, amiably bringing her attention directly to him. “I think there’s a fair chance your compatriots will give up the information.”

She stared at him, amethyst eyes dark. “You lie. They’d never succumb to the likes of you.”

“You’ll note that I’m very much not dead, my dear,” said Dorian. “So it is evident that they _would_ succumb. Although, if you mean ‘They’d never break under your questioning’ then it is fortunate for me that they’re currently being used to train baby Inquisitors. Even if your friends wouldn’t submit to my charm and beauty, I’ve little doubt that they’ll break under needles and lightning and all of that.”

Ainyn’a paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“What, give them over to the Overseer?”

“I don’t understand how you could have defeated them, even with the aid of your companion – you would have had to kill –”

“Ah, I might have, but it’s against the rules.” Dorian shrugged. “Someone went to tattle to the Overseers, with rather predictable results.”

“You should have been expelled!”

“I didn’t kill anyone, or even attempt to. I didn’t violate any of the school rules.” Dorian took a seat beside his uncle. “ _You_ on the other hand, managed to re-earn the collar you used as a disguise.”

“Impossible!”

“Dear girl,” said Lucian. “You do understand that as a student here you are still a slave, correct?”

“What? No! Being sent here means _I’m free_.”

“Becoming a member of the Order grants you your freedom, yes,” said Lucian. “But until the moment you apprentice, you are still property. You’re owned by the Order and subject to the whims of the Academy itself. Overseer Tremel decided to grant your ownership to Dorian as recompense for the attack made upon school grounds.”

“Which is ironic,” Dorian interjected, “since I _also_ have to pay a fine equal to your cost for depriving them of a slave.”

“Tremel is a master of getting what he wants. It’s rather elegant.”

“And so you claim I’m your property?”

“By all means, examine the documents,” Dorian told her, gesturing to the small table in the middle of the room. He’d left a copy of the transfer of ownership on a spare datapad. “I can’t free you – at least not for the next month, unless you want to be executed? No? – and even if I did, you’d doubtless attack me for having the temerity to not go along with your plans and the whole humiliation of this ridiculous situation.”

Her hands shook, but she leaned forward, snatching the pad and holding it close to her chest.

“I… they told me that I would be free,” she murmured. “That if I just did this thing, I could be free of my bondage, of other people’s whims.”

“May I still call you Ainyn’a?” Lucian asked, and she nodded, almost reflexively in evident surprise. “Ainyn’a, you may have a somewhat skewed idea of what it means to be Sith. When you are chosen as an apprentice, you become the property of your master, bound to follow the orders they give. They can demand anything of you, from sex to celibacy, from murder to suicide, from honor to treason, and you are required to obey. It requires a strong, clever person to survive apprenticeship. And there’s a reason why so few Apprentices make it to the title of Lord, unless they slay their masters and _take_ the title for themselves.”

“It’s just another form of slavery?” Ainyn’a asked, incredulous.

“It has rather longer chains,” said Dorian, “but yes. It comes with quite a few more perks than the slavery you suffer with now, but a Sith is ever the property of the Empire and the Emperor.”

“They _promised.”_ Her face collapsed, like a wall hit by a thermal detonator. Some of the anguish was real, Dorian could feel the waves of it in the Force, but most of it was feigned.

“Who?” asked Lucian.

“I don’t know,” said Ainyn’a, understanding lighting her eyes like a stormy dawn. “One of them wore armor that covered his face. The other was tall – human, with dark hair and eyes. Receding hair and a widow’s peak.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know them, and I didn’t ask. I could feel the power they had. No other Lords have expressed an interest in me, and they said that they’d ensure my apprenticeship if I just lured you the ambush.”

“And you believed them?” Bull bellowed. “What are you, stupid?”

Lucian frowned over at Bull. “No – she’s clearly not. It is the way of the Academy, to do what one must to draw the eye of a Master.”

She scowled up at Bull.

“I’m not stupid, but…” she shook her head, biting her lip and squinting down at her hands, as if in intense thought. “…I believed, them. I had to.”

Lucian scowled. “I hate it when other people are right, you know that?”

Dorian glanced at him.

“Suggestion,” said Lucian. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a Jedi – they specialize in mind manipulation. It’s one of the reasons that the accusations against your mother held so much weight with the Republic. The Jedi do that kind of thing all the time.”

“I’m sure there are Sith who use it.”

“Of course there are, but our methods are… more brutal and have more subtlety.” Lucian snorted. “If it were one of us, this young woman would be convinced that it was all her idea.”

The amethyst eyes took on a golden glow. “They messed with my mind?”

“I’ve little doubt of it.”

“Can I get rid of it?”

“Yes,” said Lucian. “And I’m going to teach you. Or I will, if you’ll have me. I’m Lucian Thalrassian, father of a dozen or so rambunctious Force users and doting servant of a small daughter.”

“I know who you are, sith.”

“I could use an apprentice.   I wouldn’t mind another daughter. Either one of these positions would grant you a good deal more freedom than what you have right now.”

Dorian almost laughed at matching flames in their eyes.

“My name is Calpurnia,” said Ainyn’a. “The slaver bitch thought it wasn’t ‘native’ enough, but I want to be known by the name my mother gave me.”

“Of course,” said Lucian. “Calpurnia Thalrassian has rather a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Calpurnia smiled, slow and predatory. “It sounds lovely, old man, but I’ll not be your daughter. You’ll have to come up with a better way to give your name to me. Apprenticeship will do for now.”

“Oh, he’ll _give it to you_ , alright,” muttered Bull, while Lucian looked gob smacked.

“I think she might just have your number,” said Dorian. “Why don’t we inform the council of your choice of apprentice and I can get on with my day.”

“Not so fast, Dorian,” said Bull. “I mean, yeah, let’s go to the Overseers’ offices and make sure the girl is properly free and clear, but we still need to have a chat.”

“I’m not accepting a security detail,” said Dorian as they exited the room.

“How about a butler?”

“A butler?”

“A _combat_ butler, who doesn’t want one of those?”

-0-

It turned out that ‘combat butler’ meant Krem, a Force-blind sith pureblood who favored electrostaves and vibroswords.

“Can’t say I ever thought I’d spend time here,” said Krem, bulling his way through Dorian’s door at an ungodly hour of the morning. “Bit dour, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” said Dorian, fumbling with the unreasonably complex device his uncle had sent to make caf. “I thought it rather a barrel of laughs, if you think murder and wasteful slaughter are funny.”

“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine, sith-boy.”

“That is a laugh, coming from you.”

“Eh. Ain’t Sith – being Mandalorian is a damn sight better than being a Force blind disappointment.”

“So I’d imagine.” Dorian finally convinced the damnable machine to cough out some caf that looked like tar and smelled like overripe vine-cat droppings.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Krem shoved him away from the machine, grabbing the defiled cup and dumping it out. “It’s not multiplane hyperdimensional geometry. It’s _caf.”_

Dorian stared wistfully after his cup.

“I know how to use normal brewing devices,” said Dorian, a little miffed. “I don’t need one that can calculate the fastest route between here and Corellia.”

Krem’s hands paused as he fiddled with the machine.

“I can cook, too,” Dorian told him helpfully.

“You… can cook.”

“The tales of living in the wilds of space, or at least the wilds of Korriban are not so greatly exaggerated,” said Dorian. “The compound up north hasn’t always been there, you realize. Most of it only came into being once they elevated mother to Darth. Apparently the Dark Council realized that she should perhaps have real funding about the time she started translating children’s educational programming into modern Sith.”

“She raised you here?”

Dorian was inexplicably pleased by the incredulous squeak. “At the Academy? Void and stars, _no_. Can you imagine?”

Krem snorted a laugh.

“Toddlers with itty-bitty lightsabers running through the halls, getting into duels with the acolytes…” Krem rubbed his chin. “That… okay, that sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Doesn’t it?” Dorian laughed, too, breath hitching painfully in his chest. “Qarinus was mostly just a bit of lumpy plain next to a river. Mother was convinced there was more. So she proved it. And I learned how to hunt for the fire, and cook on it. And make caf – mother hated trying to live without caf.”

Krem shook his head, managing to draw a blissfully scented liquid from the recalcitrant machine.

“Here you go, sith-boy,” said Krem, handing him his mug. “I’m here to make sure no one messes with your stuff and that you have a safe place to sleep. The boss says that you have to fight your own battles, but I can make sure that your home base is safe.”

“There’s no need for that,” Dorian insisted, taking a sip of caf and then closing his eyes in bliss. “I mean, I’d be well pleased to pay you to stay and keep me in caf – little pastries, too, if you can manage it, that would be utterly delightful – but I don’t need…”

“Shut up, Dorian,” said Krem.

“Right. Shutting up now.”

“Now, I’m sure you have Sith things to do. I’ll get your shit organized so you don’t need to worry. Eighty percent of the people here don’t have real lightsabers, and I’m not afraid of anyone who’s got a piss-poor training saber to come at me with. Get going and make your clan proud.”

Dorian got going, thinking that if Krem _had_ been Force sensitive, he’d have been one of the most terrifying Sith ever born. That morning started their routine. Krem made caf, Dorian would make breakfast, and then Dorian had to go out into the Academy, going from test to assessment to ambush in an endless cycle of frustration and misery.

Weeks later he walked into his assigned rooms to find Krem sprawled, unconscious, on the floor.

“Welcome back, acolyte.” An older man stood just in view. He was a tall man, robed in rich black silks. Dark hair swept back from a widow’s peak, accentuating the sharpness of his gaze.

“Darth Baras,” he said neutrally. “Welcome to my quarters. If I’d known I’d invited you for a visit, I’d have ensured I was here to greet you.”

“No matter, my boy,” said Baras, gesturing him forward. “Do come inside, there is much that we should discuss.”

_Malsini centruoti threxia ardyti’zilti._

_Maalzjin’senthru._

Dorian took a breath, leashing his fear and outrage to his side. He flashed a smile at Baras and stepped into the maelstrom.

“There was no need to attack Krem,” he reproved lightly, striding forward to check his companion’s vitals.

“He objected to our presence.” The irritated baritone came from behind him and to his right. Dorian glanced over his shoulder and then back down at Krem, dismissing the armored and hooded figure with a sniff.

“It’s his job to object to strangers invading my space, Lord Retrost – I assume it’s still lord, at least. Or have you had a promotion to Darth since my trip to Wild Space?” Krem appeared to be breathing normally. Dorian stood slowly, pivoting so he could see both men. “I would have been most displeased if you’d killed him for doing the task he was assigned.”

“It is wise to value good slaves and employees,” said Baras. “I’m impressed that you thought to hire such a service, my boy.”

_I am not your boy,_ thought Dorian, smiling pleasantly. “Can I offer you anything? Caf, tea? I’ve a decent press from the Imperial Vineyard on Alcyin V. Of course _you’d_ have to take your mask off, my Lord, unless that thing is equipped with a straw. Wait… is it equipped with a straw? I’ve always wondered.”

“No straw,” said Retrost, lifting his hands his face and pulling the mask off. “But I’ll take the wine.”

“And for you, Darth Baras?”

“Your offer of wine is much appreciated, my boy.”

“Please sit.” Dorian moved around Krem’s prone form, seething that he couldn’t afford to show more care. He opened the wine and set it on the center table, along with glasses. “We should allow it to breathe.”

Retrost stared at the glasses, red eyes bright with something Dorian wouldn’t have cared to try and name. Graceful bowls of hand blown crystal that had been created by artisans in the heart of Kaas City, the glasses had been given to Dorian’s mother as a courting gift – by Retrost.

“Beautiful aren’t they?” Dorian remarked. “Mother quite loved these, so they stayed at Qarinus, in the hopes they wouldn’t be damaged.”

Baras grunted.

“You wished to speak to me?” Dorian leaned back, crossing his legs carelessly.

“Indeed,” said Baras. “You’ve been making quite a name for yourself among the acolytes and Instructors.”

“Have I?” Dorian looked at Baras. “One does one’s humble best, of course.”

“Hardly humble.” Retrost met his eyes. “You’ve never had a humble bone in your body.”

“That’s largely inaccurate.” Dorian arched his back in a sensual little roll. “I’ve had a number of humble bones in me. Or should I say, I’ve often been boned by the humble?”

Baras chuckled. “Rather like your mother that way?”

“Pleasure is my right as a Sith, is it not?” He wetted his lips, letting a sly curve lift them. “Why deny myself?”

Dorian didn’t miss Retrost’s glance at Krem, or the slight sneer as the man wrinkled his nose. He could have told the man that Krem was tragically heterosexual, not to mention somewhat lacking in the genitalia department. If he made it to the Dark Council, he was going to see the laws against the gender reassignment of sith disintegrated, even if Krem claimed to be content with socks in his pants.

Then again, if it was up to him, the xenophobia and human/Sith-centrism of the Empire would be publicly executed.

But none of those things were Retrost’s business, so Dorian said nothing, merely leaning forward to snag the bottle and pour the first glass.

Baras took it from him with a small smile. “Why deny yourself, indeed?”

“So you’ve been assaulting the other students for pleasure?” Retrost snipped, taking the offered glass.

“In the same kind of way that _you_ seduce women for fun,” Dorian shot back, pouring his own. The emotions in the room surged, a spike of fear quickly hidden by a tide of rage. He sat back, sipping the sweet-tart vintage and staring at the man his mother had liked enough to bed as an equal. The rage he’d rather expected, Lord Retrost wore it like a cloak, but the fear?

“Please,” said Baras. “There’s no need for that, is there?”

“Of course not.” Dorian swirled his wine. “Lord Aquinea is dead and her choice of lovers quite moot at this point.”

“But her choice of apprentices is not.” Baras stared at him, with dark eyes unstained by the fires of the Dark Side, though Dorian could feel it flowing from him in a rich tide. “You are better trained than I had anticipated, given the amount of time your mother spent on archaeological digs.”

Dorian lifted his glass to his lips, letting the wine exhale its scent into his nose as it flowed over his tongue.

“My mother,” he said slowly, “was elevated to Darth for a reason. She loved our people, our culture and history. She would never have been less meticulous with her child than she with her archaeologist’s brush.”

“And it shows. You are easily the acolyte with the most potential here.”

“Hardly,” said Dorian. “Many have potential. They simply lack the training.”

Baras’ eyebrows rose, eyes widening for a moment at Dorian’s casual dismissal of the compliment.

“Is that so?” he asked. “So, you believe there are others here that equal you?”

Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I am sith,” he acknowledged, “but mother never believed it made us superior. She always held that the greatest potential existed in those who worked the hardest to perfect it. To be _Sith_ is to pursue perfection of self, after all.”

“Of course, of course,” said Baras, a small moue of displeasure crossing his lips. “I had thought, in your mother’s memory, that I might take you as an apprentice. As you know, I serve the Dark Council via my master, Lord Vengean. It would be a position of great power and influence.”

“An unexpected offer,” said Dorian. Unexpected and deceptive. He could feel tendrils of the Force probing his shields, and he wished he felt surprise. “Quite a generous one. I know that you were quite fond of my mother.”

“I had hoped that she’d accept my suit,” Baras acknowledged, sending an irritated glance toward Retrost, who had been the one to win her affection, “and was disappointed when it was refused. But she was a brilliant Sith and a remarkable woman. The least I can do in her memory is to ensure that her son receives the best training available.”

The pressure on his shields grew greater, and Dorian slapped it back, raking the probing tendrils with the talons of his growing rage. From the corner of his eye he saw Retrost’s eyes narrow to slits of glowing red, but did not turn his attention from Baras.

“I’ll need some time to think on it, Darth Baras. I had not thought to secure such a prestigious apprenticeship.”

“Surely you hadn’t intended to be one of the ones assigned to the front lines!” Retrost sounded appalled.

One of them, or perhaps both, was excited by the idea of Dorian entering the war as fodder. Dorian shrugged a shoulder in deliberately calculated arrogance. “The war needs Sith. And I am very good at what I do.”

“Indeed you are,” said Retrost. “Your mother would doubtless be proud.”

“Of me serving the Empire?” Dorian chuckled, honestly amused. “Of course she would, she always felt that too many Sith forget that we exist to serve the Emperor and the Empire.”

Retrost scowled at him, but Baras smiled.

“You’re quite right, my boy.” Baras finished his wine and stood. “I expect to hear from you soon, but if you’re right, I should take a closer look at all of the acolytes here. Perhaps I can find one more… suitable.”

“So a response sooner rather than later,” said Dorian. “Of course, my Lord. Do you wish me to request an audience or will email do?”

“Droll, acolyte Thalrassian. Droll. Email will be sufficient.”

“Very well,” said Dorian.

Retrost finished his wine, setting the glass down much harder than was called for, cracking the stem. “Be careful, Dorian.”

The mask went back on, and Dorian escorted them to the door, playing the gracious host as they exited.

The door closed.

“Are they gone?” asked Krem from the floor.

“Yes.”

Krem sat up, groaning. “Bastards – Retrost’s a fucking liar, in case you’re curious. They used the Academy override to get in. I’m not idiot enough to refuse them entry.”

“You did a good job of feigning insensibility,” said Dorian. “I could barely feel you.”

Krem smirked, golden eyes gleaming. “A boy has to have a few secrets.”

“You think so, do you?” Dorian dropped to the floor next to him. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Are you going to take that offer?”

Dorian shook his head, leaning back on his hands to stare up at the blank ceiling.

The door chimed. Krem groaned again and got up, dusting himself off.

“No rest for the wicked.”

“No indeed.” Dorian stood, retrieving the wineglasses and carrying them into the small ‘kitchen’ area that he and Krem had created, not trusting food or drink prepared by other hands. He heard the door swoosh open and Krem’s startled ‘My Lord!’ just before a wave of glittering Dark power engulfed him.

“Is Lord Dorian available?” The polite, gravel-strewn baritone nearly caused Dorian to drop the glasses in shock. He’d heard it before, of course – all of the Empire had. Darth Malgus, the Sith who had delivered Korriban back into the hands of the Empire, stood at his threshold.

“Of course, my lord!” Krem said, standing aside, remarkably unflappable despite the events of the evening. “May I take your cloak?”

“Of course,” heavy folds were swept off of broad shoulders as Dorian watched, dumbfounded by the presence of the most popular High Sith in the Empire. He’d had a poster of Malgus on his wall when he and his mother had lived in Kaas City, and the man hardly seemed touched by the time he’d spent on the battlefields of the war.

Want punched Dorian in the stomach, a trembling need that the old blood called the _Draw._ There were those that speculated that the _Draw_ was meant to keep the bloodlines pure. His mother had called the notion poppycock. She’d said that it was meant to bring together like to like, the Force concentrating power and aligning goals.

“Good evening my lord,” Dorian managed to say, barely managing not to squeak as the burning bronze of Malgus’ gaze swept over him.

Malgus smirked. “Hmmmm. Indeed, I think it will be.”

“Can I offer you anything my lord? Wine, perhaps?”

“Certainly, if that’s all you have to offer.”

Dorian licked his lips, raising his eyes from the smooth roll of Malgus’ hips as the man glided toward him.

“There’s caf and tea as well,” he said hoarsely, ignoring Krem’s facepalm behind the dark lord. Malgus stopped, chest-to-chest, barely a breath between them.

“Hmmm.” Malgus leaned forward, brushing his lips over Dorian’s ear. “Are you sure that’s all?”

Dorian groaned. “Please my lord, have a seat.”

“Of course,” Malgus pulled away, and Dorian took a breath, trying to ignore the spice and musk of the dark lord of the Sith that had taken up residence on the settee.

Krem managed to pour the wine without shaking hands, which was more than Dorian would have managed, and Dorian returned to his preferred seat. He accepted the glass offered to him and leaned back, trying to look less awestruck than he was.

Malgus stared at him, utterly still, wineglass held carelessly in one hand. Dorian fought not to fidget under the molten copper gaze. The Darkness that welled from Malgus was intoxicating, provoking lust and fear in equal measure, pulling need to spark on Dorian’s skin.

Dorian bit his lip, letting the emotion flow through him, drinking deeply of the heady mix, only to find the _Draw_ calm to a steady counterpoint to his breath.

Malgus smiled, sharp and deadly.

“Dorian Thalrassian,” Malgus drew his name out, pouring it like honey over gravel. “I see that your reputation is well earned.”

“Which reputation is that?”

“Your control of the Force is commendable.” Malgus swirled the wine in his glass, taking a slow sip. He hummed appreciatively. “Alcyin V?”

“Yes.”

“It’s been a while since I had a decent vintage,” said Malgus. “Soft beds and fine wines are not readily available on the front.”

“One imagines that there are few who would deny you either.”

Malgus laughed.

“Indeed not. Only our enemies seem intent on it.”

“Inconsiderate assholes,” Dorian remarked, lightly, “to deny you anything, my Lord.”

“Alas, the Republic and the Jedi do not see it that way, I’m afraid, hence my constant… _need.”_ Dorian shivered hearing the word. “Need for troops, need for Sith, need for… comforts.”

“How may I serve… the Empire?” Dorian asked.

“With your wit and your power,” said Malgus. “I am planning a new offensive and I am in need of Sith – _competent_ Sith – to lead the vanguard.”

“It’s hard to create competent Sith when they’re not given time to learn,” Dorian noted, surprised at his own audacity.

“I am aware,” said Malgus. “We must give the Academy time to train and our young Sith time to learn. This is why I need you.”

“Need me?”

“Acolyte… Dorian, may I call you that?”

“Of course, my lord.”

This time the smile he got was charming, and significantly more dangerous.

“Dorian, as you know, there are not enough Sith to adequately protect the front lines. A single, well trained one of us is more than a match for a battalion of the Republic’s best. I’ve seen footage of you fighting – you’re good, Dorian. Very, very good.”

“I know.” Dorian took a sip of wine. “Better than most of these louts, but I started earlier.”

“Yes,” said Malgus. “The old blood, the children of Sith – most are good. You’re better. More talented, better trained. Everyone remembers your mother for her discoveries at Qarinus. _I_ remember her for her skill with the blade, and with the Force.”

“It’s nice that someone does.” Dorian stared into his wine.

“You would be an asset on battlefields across the galaxy, Dorian.” Malgus leaned forward, setting down his glass. “Most of your peers seek to impress men like Baras. They seek the attention of Marr, of Vowrawn, of Vengean. You, though… you’re the only one who seeks to hone his own power for the sake of it.”

“I seek strength,” Dorian acknowledged.

“And victory.” Malgus stood, looking down at him. “Those are the traits that will win us this war. I have need of you, Dorian, for the Service of the Empire.”

Dorian drank the last of his wine and closed his eyes, letting his head drop back.

“Is that the only Service you want my Lord?”

Fingers brushed his cheek, leaving a burning cold that made Dorian ache. Lips brushed his ear, chapped and intimate as Dorian filled his lungs with musk and spice. “I will take whatever Service you wish to offer me.”

Dorian could feel Krem’s faint horror as he slid to his knees, glass dropping to the carpet.

“My bed is soft, my lord,” said Dorian, the _Draw_ fizzing in his blood. “For this eve, you may have what use of it, and of me, that you will.”

The hot/cold hand slid into his hair, fisting tight, and Doran moaned with the pain and the pleasure of it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t damage you too badly. The Empire needs you too much,” said Malgus before pulling Dorian up into a brutal, biting kiss, and Dorian fell headlong into the ravening need that formed between them.

-0-

“Are you _fucking_ insane?” Krem demanded the next day as he tended to the marks Malgus had left all over Dorian’s body. “That – that’s _Malgus_. He could delete you with a thought, you void-damned idiot.”

Dorian shrugged, vibrating hard enough that he was likely generating hard gamma rays and causing cancer in any small rodents that happened to be hiding in the walls. “I believe it was worth it.”

“If Bull saw you right now, you’d get a spanking, and it wouldn’t be the fun kind, _di'kut._ ”

“Oh, now there’s a mental image I had no need of, _thank_ you very much.”

“Please tell me that you’re not taking him up on his offer.”

“Of course I am,” said Dorian, stretching languidly. “That’s been the whole point of this ludicrous endeavor. Go to war with Malgus and survive, you gain the title of Lord without having to bend your knee to the likes of Baras.”

“That’s hardly the point of letting the man use you.”

“No,” Dorian drawled. “I did _that_ because I wanted to. Please, it’s Malgus. Show me anyone in the Empire that wouldn’t spread their legs if he so much as hinted he wanted what was between them.”

“You had the posters, didn’t you?” Krem accused, but without much heat.

“I had a very cheerful awakening to my sexuality with them, yes.”

“…and the porn mags, I take it?”

“Until mother found them.” Dorian grinned. “She commended my taste. Malgus has always been quite fit. I’m not convinced she didn’t just hide them in _her_ rooms.”

“Fanboy.”

“Guilty as charged.” Dorian sighed. “Look at it this way, you’ll get away from being my _combat butler._ ”

“Are you kidding?” asked Krem. “If Bull doesn’t decide that you need a full squad following you around, you’re probably wrong.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din, utreekov’vod,_ ” muttered Krem. “Bull calls you one of ours, you’re ours, dumbass. You go to war, then so do we.”

“I’m hardly a Mandalorian.”

“Too late,” Krem told him, slapping him on the shoulder to indicate he was done dressing wounds. “Bull’s already told the Mandalore.”

Dorian stood. “This is rather ill advised, isn’t it?”

“We’ll be fighting for family and glory.” Krem’s eyes danced, hearty laughter trembling on his lips. “And to pit ourselves against the universe, just to see who wins. It’s going to _suck_ , Thalrassian. What could be better?”

“You are such a _Mandalorian._ ”

Krem clapped him on the shoulder. “So are _you,_ brother. So are you.”

Dorian shook his head.

“You’ll come on it eventually,” Krem told him.

“One day.” The words fell hollowly from Dorian’s lips, a bright-edged spark in darkness. Krem looked at him oddly, a question hovering in his eyes, when Dorian shook his head. He took a breath, willing himself calm. “Do I have any robes that aren’t ripped, torn, bloodstained, or otherwise unacceptable?”

Krem gave him an exaggeratedly offended look, clapping his hands over his heart.

“Of course. There’s a whole drawer of clothes I don’t even let you see, much less wear.”

Dorian crossed his arms, and raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. The Big Boss sent them and said you couldn’t have them unless you had something really formal to do.”

“Well, I thought I’d find Darth Malgus…”

Krem slapped his hands over his ears. “Lalala-la-laaaa…”

Dorian laughed at him and Krem smirked.

“I have to, if I’m to accept entry into his corps. I promise not to get any stains on it. But what I have is a small task for you and the Bull’s _Kad-an_.”

“Oh?”

“I’d rather like all the information that you can dig up on Baras and his friend, Retrost. Especially Retrost.”

“Way ahead of you,” said Krem. “That whole little meeting was creepy as hell. But any particular reason to focus on Retrost?”

“Uncle made mention that it’s a particularly _Jedi_ trick to mess with people’s minds,” said Dorian. “Someone in the room was trying to manipulate me with the Force. It wasn’t you. _Baras_ hasn’t the subtlety.” Dorian paused. “Or rather, this isn’t his style. By reputation he’s more prone to flattery and favors.”

“You sure it wasn’t me?”

“Krem, you’d stick your vibrosword in my head in order to change my mind, not Force tentacles.”

“True,” Krem nodded. “You suspect Retrost of being _jetii_?”

“I suspect many people of many things,” Dorian said, neutrally. “But… yes. I think that such a deception would explain a few things.”

-0-

Krem’s verbiage had been more than adequate to the task, Dorian realized some months later as he sat in a dropship above Alderaan. The war _sucked._ Malgus had grossly understated the inaccessibility of wine and soft beds, as well. Dorian almost wished that he’d taken Baras up on his offer, though he could not doubt the contributions that he was making to the war effort.

Dorian looked at the men who surrounded him. Imperial soldiers – some fresh from the academy, others veterans of several campaigns, but all of them his. His to care for, his to protect.

“My lord?” said Cpt. Quinn, a blooded veteran of the war. A good man, thought Dorian. A young son at home, his wife some kind of researcher.

“Yes, Captain?”

“The men are ready, if you’d like to speak a few words.”

“A few words,” Dorian parroted, getting a laugh from everyone. “No – I’m fairly certain that that’s not what I mean to say. Perhaps it would be more apropos to say ‘Don’t die, I’ll be most discombobulated if you die, so I’d prefer it if you’d avoid that.’”

“I suggested a few words, my lord,” groused the Quinn, “Not a jumble of them.”

“Sorry-not-sorry, Captain.” Dorian looked at the soldiers, _his_ soldiers. “You know me, well, most of you do – I know there hasn’t been time for me to meet the newest of you. Sorry about that. The life of a Sith is like that. Busy-busy-busy. Murder and mayhem and all of that –” a statement that was more true than Dorian liked to think “—but we’re here for the Empire, all of us. And it is quite true that I’ll be put out if you die, so I would like you to avoid it if possible. Void knows that _I’ll_ be doing my best to ensure that you don’t die, so all I ask is a little cooperation on that front.”

There were murmurs from the newer additions to his unit, along with quiet affirmations that he spoke the truth. The members of his personal bodyguard – Krem, Grim, Skinner and Stitches, all elite members of Bull’s _Kad-an_ – groaned.

“You’re not allowed to die either,” called Krem.

“Well, that’s what I have you for!” he called back, eliciting grins. “You all know our target.”

Their current offensive was, in no uncertain terms, _offensive,_ Dorian thought. A pointless exercise in Imperial power that could have no good end. He gestured up to the viewscreen that reflected their mission briefing. Below them the Core World of Alderaan spun, white clouds swirling gracefully over oceans and mountains, a blue-green jewel that radiated life so strongly he could feel it from orbit.

And they were here to try and put it in the Empire’s crown. Dorian had no idea whose idea it was. If he had, he’d be tempted to confront them and shove the end of his military-issue light-staff in their face. He had no idea what the Dark Council was imbibing, but Dorian wanted to know, just so he could avoid whatever it was. Dorian hated stupidity and this attack was filled with it.

A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to look up.

“Are you well, Acolyte?”

“As well as can be expected, my lord.” Dorian looked up to meet the eyes of Lord Cytharat, Darth Malgus’ apprentice. “My men and I are ready for the attack, and are confident of our success.”

“Walk with me,” said Cytharat, and Dorian rose, nodding to the Lieutenant who had charge of the soldiers he would lead on the surface. Grim started to rise to follow, and Dorian waved him down. Cytharat probably wouldn’t kill him.

At least it wasn’t Eleena Daru. Malgus’ twi’lek consort wasn’t pleased with the fact that Dorian had offered Service to her lover, and wouldn’t have pissed on him if he’d been on fire.

“You have concerns,” said Cytharat as they exited the hearing range of the troops.

“Of course I do, my lord,” said Dorian. “I know that we can take the planet. Alderaan is soft and ripe for plucking. I worry that it is poisoned fruit, however.”

“How so?”

“How many soldiers, how much materièl, how many _Sith_ will we have to expend to _hold_ it?” Dorian spat, keeping his voice low and posture relaxed by sheer dint of will. “These people are soft, yes, but they commit to internecine fighting on a regular basis. They will not submit to the Empire any more easily than they submit to one another.”

“You doubt our cause?”

“Our cause? Never,” Dorian denied in a fierce whisper. “Our actions? Yes. I serve the Empire and all of its people, Cytharat, and that includes the men behind me.”

Cytharat chuckled. “My lord was right about you, you are a savage thing aren’t you?”

“Darth Malgus flatters me,” said Dorian. “I would see the enemies of the Empire laid waste, my lord, but I would not see its people _wasted._ ”

“Then you will have to do your best, won’t you, Acolyte?” said Cytharat, pulling him closer. “And you know what you need to do, in order to be your best, don’t you?”

Dorian met mocking golden eyes squarely. It had been too early to assume that Daru had nothing to do with this incident. He let rage build behind his ribs as he smiled, coy and flirtatious.

“We’ve only a few hours to planetfall, and I need to be in condition to fight, my Lord – but my Service is yours if you wish it.”

“Then drop to your knees, Acolyte,” Cytharat said, “and open that clever mouth.”

-0-

Dorian stood atop the cliff overlooking Pallista Spaceport and the main holdings of House Organa as dispassionately as he could, refusing to give in to the rage and bloodlust that filled his veins.

“Captain Quinn,” he snapped into his communicator. “The civilians will be treated with all due respect and if hear a single report of rape or abuse, I will hold public executions of the offenders. We are the Empire, and we are not barbarians. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Quinn. Even at this distance, they could hear the echo of him shouting at soldiers. Skinner grinned at him.

“You want me to go down and make a point?”

“Please do, my lady,” said Dorian. “Make it as… _pointed_ as you like.”

“Do they make bionic dicks yet?” she asked Skinner.

“I have no idea,” said the medic, “but I’m certainly willing to let someone _else_ find out.”

“Watch out for the other civilians,” Krem called to them as they left. “Make a point of _them_ too.”

“Void and stars,” muttered Dorian, relaying that observation to Quinn. “Bad enough that I have to ride herd on _our_ people.”

“Eh,” said Krem. “It’s only the new ones you need to worry about. Our vets know your rules. You probably won’t have to execute more’n one or two.”

“That isn’t a consolation.” He looked out over the plateau and city streets, trying not to think about his participation in the slaughter. The energy he’d gleaned from Cytharat had been put to good use, allowing him to shield his soldiers on their approach to the city walls. The poor fools hadn’t even thought to raise House Organa’s shields against a land approach, and Organa’s soldiers had paid dearly for that oversight.

They’d fought well and bravely, but were not a match for an irritated Sith with a small army at his back.

His holocom chimed. Cpt. Quinn appeared, standing in perfect attention.

“My lord, the city is mostly secured, and the palace is ready for Imperial use.”

“Palace?” Dorian shook his head.

“That’s what they get for having an aristocracy,” said Krem, pointing to the building in question. “Ostentatious, isn’t it?”

“It could be worse,” said Dorian as they started the climb down. “It could be the Dark Temple.”

“Oh, shut it,” Krem told him. “Grim’s got your formal robes, so you can clean up before Malgus talks to these assholes.”

“Oh, joy,” said Dorian. “The speech about how we’re here to liberate them from their Republic overlords. It always goes so well.”

“Quit complaining, whiner.” The soldier they passed looked shocked at Krem’s insubordination, but Dorian just laughed.

They made their way through corpse-ridden streets. The droids being used in the cleanup were being as respectful as possible with the dead. Already there were Intelligence officers working to identify the slain, so they’d have a better idea of how to handle the civilians. They nodded respectfully to him as he passed, and Dorian jogged up the clear – if bloodstained – steps to the palace.

“Have we identified the most senior members of the House?” Dorian asked Quinn as he reached the entryway.

“The Duke and most of his family appear to have fled to holdings in the surrounding mountains,” Quinn told him, falling into step as a soldier led them further into the building.

“Typical,” Krem snorted. “Cowards.”

“Are they?”

“Of course they are, my lord,” said Quinn. “They could have stayed to face us.”

“Be wary, Captain. A strategic retreat is not cowardice. And we cannot hold what we cannot protect.”

The captain’s eyes widened, then narrowed in thought. “I think I understand. You think it a trap, the ease of capitulation?”

“No,” said Dorian. “I think the enemy is canny and cornered. I think that, when the numbers come in, we will find few of the very young or the very old, and not as many able bodied youth as we would expect. It isn’t a trap, captain – it’s a distraction.”

“From what?”

“Captain, once upon a time the Empire was driven into the depths of Wild Space with what remained of our people. We returned with an army. What makes you think that the people of Alderaan, driven into the wilds, will do any differently?”

“They aren’t Imperial – they have neither our drive nor our passion,” Quinn retorted. “Our forces are superior and we will prevail.”

“Just so. You mustn’t be so negative, Acolyte. We have driven the enemy into fear and despair – and they have no defense against them. We will root out those with information on Duke Organa and hound them into surrender.” Lord Cytharat approached them from behind, blood-spattered and exultant from battle.

“Will we?” Dorian countered. “Provoking additional ire will not go well for the Empire.”

“They are _weak,_ Acolyte.”

“Passion leads to strength, my _lord._ And strength to victory. What makes you think that only applies to _us?_ ”

Cytharat backhanded him. “ _We are Sith.”_

“Since when does that make us _fools_?” Dorian blocked the next blow, and the next, a rumbling snarl building low in his chest.

“Enough.” Malgus stepped into the corridor. “I will not have my best assets brawling in the corridors like children. Cytharat, you will finish securing the spaceport so that we may land more ground troops.” Malgus held up a hand, silencing his apprentice without a word. “Go. _Now._ ”

“Yes, my lord.” Cytharat snapped his heels together and bowed. “Right away, my lord.”

“And you,” Malgus thundered, pointing at Dorian. “You will begin planning our assault upon House Panteer. You will be the vanguard, and I expect you to bring the Queen of Alderaan to me collared and chained.”

Dorian swallowed, clicking his heels and bowing. “Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.”

“And acolyte, I expect to see you after the evening meal. We have matters to discuss.”

“Of course, my lord,” Dorian said, as Malgus passed them, his presence Dark and seething. “It will be as you command.”

“Void and stars, Dorian,” Krem muttered.

“My lord?” The Captain’s voice trembled slightly.

“You heard him,” said Dorian. “Round our men up, we need to know what we’ve got and what we’re facing. Make sure that everyone re-supplies.”

“My Lord, we didn’t take many casualties, but the men will need a chance to recover. You’ve got to get us at least a couple of days—”

Dorian stared at him.

“—right, my lord. Get the men together and resupply, best as we’re able.”

“We’ll need a space to plan the assault.”

“You let me work on that, boss,” said Krem. “The Captain and I will work out what we can. Mal—Darth Malgus will be giving a speech pretty soon, and you’ll be needed for that.”

“Indeed. Get me a report of our forces within the hour,” said Dorian. “I’ll need an accurate idea of what we’ll need before I meet with Darth Malgus this evening.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Quinn. “You’ll find your retainer a bit further down the hall and on the left.”

“Ah… right. My change of clothes.”

“You’ll be the most stylish Sith available,” Krem joked. “We’ll get those numbers to you.”

A quick wash and change of clothes later, Dorian found himself walking unseen amidst the subdued population, weaving the Force around him in a cloak. He opened himself up to the feelings of the people around him, and was unsurprised to find rage, fear, and a firmly unspoken determination. Despite what Cytharat and Malgus might want to think, these people weren’t cowed by the might of the Empire, and would not do anything more than superficially submit.

Dorian wove between groups, listening to furtive words and hastily hushed tirades. Already he could see agents of Imperial Intelligence moving through the crowd, and felt a vague pity for the potential insurrectionists. Alderaan might be a world prone to internal conflict amidst the high mountains and fertile plains, but it was unaccustomed to outside conquerors, and far less acquainted with institutions designed to pacify and control a potentially restive populace.

“Aaaaaaaai,” the low moan came from his left. A heavily pregnant young woman in clothes that seemed to mark her a servant leaned heavily against a somewhat older woman. The scent of fear hit his nose along with something else, nagging and familiar.

“Come on, Parvin – it’s just a bit farther.”

“I can’t – I can’t. The baby is coming.”

The other woman looked down. “Damn. Your water’s broken?”

“Yes.”

“You should have gone with Gregor,” the older woman scolded. “You would be safe now.”

The laboring woman shook her head. “They… they have to believe we’ve surrendered. And I couldn’t have made the trip, not on foot.”

“Fool of a girl! Just because the Organa’s promised you advancement, you shouldn’t have risked your life and that of your babe,” her companion hissed. “What are we going to do now?”

Dorian followed at a small distance, dropping behind a column in order to lower the sight-shield he’d been holding up. He tracked the two using the Force, choosing to intercept them just before they reached the shattered door of what looked like a cantina.

The young woman, Parvin, stumbled, moaning in pain. “She’s coming, Anda. There’s no time.”

“Oh, goodness,” said Dorian, stepping out from the shadows. “What’s this?”

Anda glared at him.

“Sith,” she hissed.

“Indeed I am, my dear. But right now I’m the sith who has had some experience in delivering babies, and unless I’m mistaken, your companion is in dire need of assistance.” An understatement, once he took a closer look at her with the Force. Parvin had somehow been hiding her labor for several hours, diverting attention from the wetness in her skirts and the agony she was in. “Void and stars, woman! Why didn’t you report to the medical droids? I know they were made available!”

“Children are to be delivered into living hands, heathen.”

“Unless I am mistaken,” Dorian snapped, “you’ll be cutting a stillbirth from her corpse at this rate.”

“How dare you!”

“Unlike you, it seems I actually value this woman’s life. Look at her!” Dorian swept in, adding his support to the faltering woman. He pulled out his holocom, punching in the number for Stitches, his team’s medic. The medic answered, looking harried.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I’ve a medical emergency at my location. Human woman in the late stages of labor. Both mother and child read as distressed to my senses, I’m unsure as to why.”

“How long has she been in labor?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Forever,” Parvin murmured.

“An unlikely and unhelpful answer,” said Dorian, “but we’ll work with it. At a guess since just before or just after the invasion started.”

“How about the contractions?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity to check, and I’m not sure we can get her to triage easily.”

“I’ll snag Skinner and head to your location my lord. Are you safe?”

Dorian snorted. “Of course not, although I believe the area has been nominally cleared.”

“Make her comfortable, and get ready to catch if you need to. I’ve heard your stories; you’ve been through worse.”

“Well,” Dorian drawled. “That’s true.”

“Leave us alone! This is no business of yours.”

Dorian raised a brow, urging Parvin to sit on an exposed bit of masonry.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told of the Empire, my lady, but we Sith value both children and family. I could no more leave this woman in distress than I could disobey an order from the Emperor.” He considered it. “Unless it was an order to ignore her, in which case I would certainly have some difficulties obeying.”

“Liar.”

“Anda,” Parvin grunted on a harsh exhale. “Shut. Up. Oh, stars and glory. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s what got you into this mess,” said Dorian, pulling off his cloak to soften the ground. “Do you wish to lie down, or kneel?”

“Down,” she said. “Where’s Gregor?”

He looked at Anda, who glared at him and took Parvin’s hand. “He’s not here right now, dear.”

“Bastard,” Parvin huffed out.

Dorian lifted the sodden skirts, urging her back. A flash of lightning over the surface of his hands stung, but ensured they were sterile enough for the task before him.

“What are you doing?” Anda demanded.

“It appears that I’m helping this lovely woman deliver a baby. What does it look like?” It was incredibly awkward, spreading the Parvin’s legs, to check the progress of her labor. “Ah, you’re quite right, you should have a baby quite soon – at least, when my mother was at this stage, my sister popped out almost immediately on an almighty push. I suppose it’s trite, but you might want to bear down with the next contraction, my lady.”

Anda stared at him. “Your mother?”

“Right onto a forest floor, to be precise,” Dorian told her cheerfully as Parvin panted. “That’s when I learned that babies are _slippery_.”

“Aaaaaiiaaagh!”

As predicted, the baby slid free – a girl as Parvin had insisted, and into Dorian’s waiting hands. A strong, indignant wail filled the air, and he laughed.

“They’re also, distracting,” he said, doing his best to clear the child’s nose and eyes of gunk. “But I advise that you re-think the attack you’re planning. I do know you’re there – and I won’t have any of you idiots endangering the little one’s life.”

Dorian looked up. The Force signatures that had begun to gather at what someone _thought_ might be the edges of his vision paused. “My personal medic will be here soon to care for mother and child. I’m sure that we would all like to ensure that they’re both healthy. While I’m quite certain of my ability to receive that information, it would be a shame if the rest of you were deprived of it. My only concern at this moment is the health and welfare of Parvin and –” he looked down at the baby.

“Jaesa,” Parvin murmured, still moaning as her body worked to expel the placenta.

“—Jaesa. Do feel free to tell the missing Gregor that he seems to have a perfectly lovely baby girl.”

Dorian could feel the confusion and dismay as the surrounding people pulled back, and he heard the hum of an approaching landspeeder. He looked up as it came to a stop.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian groused. “Baby and afterbirth, both, and where were you?”

“Off treating soldiers and civilians, like you asked me to,” said Stitches, pulling out a scanner. “Hello, ma’am. I’ll just be a moment.”

“I was teaching a few lessons,” said Skinner, grinning. “Only two bionic dicks this time. I’m thinking the rest of ’em got the point.”

“I don’t think they make bionic replacements for phalli, Skinner.”

“Ah. Well, you shouldn’t mis-use a limb you’re not able to replace. It ain’t navigating the Maw without a comp.”

Stitches knelt down, pulling out a handful of hyposprays. “I’m not really equipped for this, but these are standard kolto injections. I thought you might not want to trust us with the injections, so I’m just going to leave them with you. You can read the labels and decide if you want them yourself.”

Stitches caught his eye. “Boss, you need to give the nice lady her baby. I’m going to cut the umbilical cord and advise that she head over to the triage tents – we’ve got both our medical service droids _and_ Alderaanian ones. There’s also a handful of local medics and doctors that came forward to help with the injured, so if she doesn’t want to deal with one of us, she can have one of her them.”

Dorian nodded. “Well, that’s that, I suppose. There’s no excess bleeding?”

“None to speak of, but she should get checked out.”

Skinner returned with Stitches’ kit, and, as promised, the cord and placenta were dealt with. Skinner produced some absorbent cloth from who-knew-where for use as a diaper. They left the women kneeling the shattered remains of the street, one glaring and one wondering, as they headed back toward the central square where Malgus would address the crowd.

“Your forgot your cloak,” said Skinner.

“Oh, you mean that heavy bit of frippery that Krem has attached at least three trackers to?” asked Dorian. “Why, yes. I suppose I did. Also, it was covered in ‘just delivered a baby’ goo, so I’m not really going to miss it.”

Skinner began laughing, gleeful as they sped through the streets.

“For a Mando, you are such a fucking _Sith._ ”

“I keep telling you, that I’m not Mandalorian.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sith-boy,” said Skinner. “I’ve heard that if you lie enough, you’ll eventually believe it.”

-0-

“Dorian,” said Krem as Stitches patched him up after another night in Service to Malgus. “This has got to stop.”

“Can’t,” said Dorian, panting as the bone knitter did its work without anesthesia. “Need the boost.”

“Dorian, he’s going to kill you at this rate!”

“Better me than you, or the men.”

“Dude, you have a serious misunderstanding about how this bodyguard gig works,” said Skinner. The rose-skinned twi’lek grabbed a camp chair, and spun it around, straddling it as she sat down to face him. “ _We’re_ here for _you_. It’s our job to keep _you_ alive, you dumbass.”

“Alas, my darling, that’s not how it works.” Dorian hissed as Stitches gave him a kolto injection, sighing as the cold of the near-magical healing effects began to spread through his bloodstream. “You’re _mine._ I protect what is _mine_. You, my men. I have to have the strength to get us all through this, and if it means bending my knee to Malgus and his consort I’ll do it.”

“ _Ibic darjetii’vod cuyir di'kut!_ ” she spat, taking his hand. “What good is it if you sacrifice yourself in Malgus’ bed and not on the battlefield?”

“Victory requires strength, and we need that.”

“Victory requires _you._ The Empire can’t win here. You know it, we know it – your men know it. We’ve spent months up here, getting ready for the push into Panteer.” Skinner’s grip on his fingers tightened until his bones creaked. “If we’re going to get out of this alive, it’ll be because of you, _utreekov’vod._ You’re not blinded. Stop trying to get yourself _dead_.”

“I’m not trying to die, for pity’s sake! It’s not like I’m not getting something out of it.”

“Bruises and broken bones don’t _count_ ,” muttered Stitches and Grim just grunted.

“If it’s just the energy you get from Service, take it from one of us!” Krem growled. “For that matter, there isn’t one soldier under your command who wouldn’t Offer if you showed them the least encouragement.”

“No,” said Dorian, pulling his hand away from Skinner’s. “No one who reports directly to me. I won’t have Service offered to me out of some kind of obligation.”

They all stared at him.

“You sure he’s Sith?” asked Grim in a clear tenor Dorian realized he’d never actually heard before. Grim usually communicated in grunts and glares.

“Not at the moment,” said Krem.

_“I_ don’t matter,” said Dorian, feeling rather petulant. “Being Sith means it’s my job to be your shield.”

“It’s your job to be _Saaraij’s_ shield,” Skinner snapped back at him. “Remember her, your little ‘cousin’? The reason you’re doing all of this?”

He glared at her, his heart aching at the name Lucian had chosen when claiming Dorian’s sister as his own daughter.

Truth. Simultaneously a name and a legacy.

“Bitch,” he muttered.

“Damned right, sith-boy,” Skinner stood up. “Stop being an asshole. Malgus can’t compel you and you don’t need him to juice you up, not if it takes us a couple of hours to get you into fighting shape.”

“Hardly matters – we won’t be close enough to the main camp for days, anyway.” Dorian stood slowly, testing his abused muscles and the fragile knitting of bone. He hurt, but it wasn’t enough to signify. “Provided that all goes well.”

“Yeah, said Stitches. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Dorian shuddered. “I did suggest that we merely take a strike team, but Darth Vengean wishes a show of force.”

“Darth Vengean can go suck a Hutt.”

Skinner clapped a hand over Krem’s mouth, eyes widening with horror.

“No need to worry,” said Captain Quinn, joining them. “I didn’t hear a thing. You’re looking better, my Lord. I hope that your guard has managed to talk some sense into you.”

“Insubordination,” said Dorian. “It’s almost as though I get no respect.”

“My lord, if we respected you any more, you’d disintegrate under the weight of our regard.”

Dorian scowled while his team laughed.

“The tracker you managed to plant has revealed a pass into the valley that holds Panteer Castle,” said Quinn.

“Really?” asked Dorian. “What do the scouts say?”

“Initial reports indicate that the way is clear. Darth Malgus seems to be quite pleased with the results.”

Dorian wasn’t, the foreboding in his gut flaring up and circling, a predator on the hunt.

“Krem,” he said quietly. “I need you to go back to Pallista – before we do anything else, I want a transport capable of carrying all of our troops, if necessary.”

“Do you think there will be a problem, my lord?” asked Quinn.

“I think we should be prepared.” Dorian stood, feeling dazed and disjointed. The Force flowed around him in a strong current, guiding his steps to their war table in the corner. He lifted his hand, fingers tracing a path over the satellite images of the surrounding mountains, strange and meditative. “In fact… Captain, I would like you to go with Krem. Choose whomever you’d like – a team to serve as backup.”

“My lord?”

“Malgus will order us through the pass,” Dorian murmured, the words coming from somewhere else. “The royal family is close. He can smell their blood on the air, feel it on his skin. The Queen is old, but she has daughters. They’ve given children to the Jedi before. A new bloodline of Sith. The final victory that would claim this world utterly.” Dorian looked up, but felt blind. “So many have fled into the mountains. The baby is cold, but they must flee. Battle is coming. Oh! She is here. We’re saved.”

“Ambush,” said Grim, hovering a finger over images of the hilly terrain.

“That’s what I’d do,” agreed Krem.   “Is that what you’re thinking, boss?”

“Hmmm?” Dorian blinked, then staggered, abruptly exhausted. “I’m sorry, Krem. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that you need a nap, boss,” said Krem. “I’m on my way. Grim? Captain?”

“No –” Stitches caught him before he fell. “—need to make ready. He’ll order us through. Have to warn Malgus.”

“We’ll take care of that, Dorian,” said Skinner.

“Won’t believe you,” Dorian muttered as Stitches half-carried him to his bedroll. Malgus hadn’t been kidding about the lack of soft beds while on campaign. “Thinks they’re weak and broken. He’s wrong. The Code isn’t just for us.”

The words slurred, dripping bitter and noisome from his tongue as he fell into darkness.

Dorian woke a few hours later, pulled from sleep by the raucous noise of soldiers cheering. In the distance he could hear Malgus’ voice, it’s gravel tumbling like an avalanche through the ranks, promising death, promising power and victory.

“You awake?” asked Skinner.

Dorian opened his eyes, turning his head to find her sitting on the floor next to him. Her primary blaster was disassembled upon a cloth as her fingers polished and replaced components by rote. He felt better, and his head clearer than it had in weeks.

“Malgus is on the central holoterminal. We’re supposed to move in the morning. They’ve shuttled up half a battalion as reinforcements. Cytharat’s outside with a contingent of Sith.”

A cheer went up outside. Skinner shook her head, lekku bouncing.

“He’s charismatic, gotta give him that.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Dorian, sitting up gingerly. All the aches and pains he’d had upon his return to the camp were gone. “How much kolto did Stitches expend on me?”

“Just enough,” said the offending medic as he entered the tent. In one hand he held a bowl filled with something fragrant and mouthwatering, and in the other he had a sealed bottle of water. The bowl was shoved unceremoniously under Dorian’s nose. “Eat, asshole.”

“Is the water for me, too?” Dorian ignored the food, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m not a barbarian, I can eat at the table.”

Skinner stifled a laugh, her fingers flying as she re-assembled her blaster.

“Meals in bed should be taken advantage of, sith-boy.”

“Darling, _that_ is hardly a bed, and nerf stew is not what I prefer to eat when I’m in one.”

Skinner flashed him a knowing smile just as Stitches shoved the bowl in his chest. She rose gracefully to her feet and began secreting enough vibroknives about her person to supply a small army.

“You know that as a medic, I _can_ prevent you from participating in the upcoming assault,” said Stitches. “Eat the damn food.”

“You could, but you won’t,” Dorian took the proffered offering and sat down. He took a bite, chewing slowly. “Not bad.”

“Better than rations – Captain Quinn sent some of the boys out hunting before he and Krem left for Pallista.”

“Did they find a transport?”

“They secured two – Krem said he had a feeling about it. They brought them along with Cytharat’s reinforcements.”

Dorian grimaced. “When are we to move out?”

“The main force? In the morning. Us? As soon as you’re ready. Captain Quinn tried to tell Cytharat that we suspect an ambush – that there’s no way that the resistance hasn’t noticed us hitting their camps, and that the intel likely isn’t entirely trustworthy – but Cytharat said it was our job to prevent any problems.”

“No surprise there.” Dorian shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth, trying to enjoy the flavor of not-rations. “We can warn the squad captains.”

“Krem’s taking care of that. Captain Quinn took it upon himself to warn Lady Daru – she’ll take Malgus’ safety seriously, even if Cytharat won’t.”

“Good.” Dorian tapped his fingers on his now-empty bowl. “And Malgus?”

Skinner winced. “Thought we’d leave that to you.”

“Wonderful. I thought you didn’t want me interacting with the man.”

“We don’t want you to keep letting him _hurt_ you,” Skinner snapped. “There’s been quite enough of _that_. For _darjetii_ , you’re far too _jetii_.”

“I should kick your ass for calling me a Jedi.”

She had the temerity to cuff him. “ _Darjetii’vod_ is a moron.”

-0-

_Darjetii’vod_ was definitely a moron, Dorian thought as he ran through the forest, half a squad of Republic Special Forces at his back, trying to lead them away from the main force of Malgus’ army.

“I can’t get to you.” Krem’s voice was tense in his earpiece. “The trees are too thick.”

“How about up on the ridge?” Dorian asked, vaulting over deadwood and flinging himself high into the branches of an ancient evergreen. He landed lightly, barely causing the boughs to shiver, and watched the chasing soldiers run themselves straight to the edge of a ravine. “Can we get our men up there?”

“Dorian, have a little faith. Skinner’s with Quinn and our boys, if anyone can get them away from those fucking _chakaaryc besom…_ Holy… Dorian! _Jetii_ inbound!”

Dorian’s tree _shook_ , shivering on ancient roots that he would have bet reached the center of the world. He spun, flipping down as a golden-yellow ’saber soared through the space he’d been.

“Sith! You will rue this day!” shouted a hooded Jedi from down the path.

“Quite honestly? I’ve regretted waking up for several hours,” Dorian called back. “Quite sorry about the invasion, by the bye, but you know how it is, orders and all that.”

“Surrender, then. The Republic will show mercy.”

“Mercy?” Rage ignited under his breastbone, hot and terrible. “I’ve seen the Republic’s _mercy_ , Jedi.”

Lightning snapped from his fingertips, red-and-gold, like leaping flames. He was aware of the soldiers who had chased him up the mountain, and let the knowledge burn through him. They wore the insignia of _Havoc Squad,_ the same unit that had invaded his quiet mountain fastness, murdering everything in their path.

The saberstaff he’d been issued ignited, red and malevolent.

“At least I’ve never slain an unarmed civilian,” Dorian hissed. “Nor permitted my men rapine and pillage. Show me a soldier here who has cleaner hands, _duse jetii_ , and I will call you a liar. Republic _hypocrites_.”

Dorian spun, blade flashing in intricate arcs as he sent blaster bolts back into the bodies of the soldiers that surrounded him. The Force rumbled, coiling and writhing, demanding the freedom to do as it would, and Dorian set it free.

The concussion wave released blew the soldiers back, knocking them violently in to trees or onto the ground.

“Dorian, there’s a clearing up the hill – across the ravine, about a half-click north. We can pick you up if you can get there.” Krem’s voice echoed tinny and strange in his ear.

Dorian deflected the thrown saber and used lightning to punt the bastard back when he leapt. His lip curled. Simplistic, delaying tactics.

“Are you such a coward, then?” Dorian asked, sweeping the hood of his own cowl back. “That you need to distract and delay me? Are the Jedi so pathetic they cannot fight without their little toy soldiers to back them up?”

“Dorian, what are you doing?” Krem shouted through the commlink.

“You!” growled the Jedi. “It was _you._ ”

The Jedi pulled back his own hood, revealing a familiar face.

_“Sir Padawan_ ,” he said, almost smiling. “How pleasant to meet you again.”

“You tampered with my mind.”

“Is that what they told you?” Dorian laughed, bringing his staff up to guard. The Force snarled and snapped around them in a vicious surge and flow. “And you believed them? That I, not even an _apprentice_ , tampered with your mind and memory? Or perhaps my mother did it in the moments between saving your life and, oh, saving your life?”

The Jedi stared at him, rage and confusion battling for dominance.

_“Void and Stars,_ Jetii _just dropped a cliff on Malgus. Dorian, we’ve got to_ go _.”_   Panic rang in Krem’s voice.

“You should ask these men about their time on Adaarani,” Dorian said pleasantly. “Instead of letting the Jedi tell you what you think you know.”

Dorian threw a small ball of lightning, enough to stagger the Jedi and prevent him from following, but not enough to kill. Sir Padawan had been helpful in rescuing the children, after all, and unlike the lying Jedi, _Dorian_ had honor.

He gripped the Force and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aliit ori'shya tal'din: (Mando’a) Family is more than blood. (Mandalorian aphorism)  
> chakaaryc besom: (Mando’a) Rotten, ill-mannered, unhygienic person, with no manners, which is saying something coming from a Mandalorian.  
> darjetii'vod: brother sith  
> Ibic darjetii’vod cuyir di'kut: (Mando'a) (our) Sith brother is an idiot  
> Jetii: (Mando’a) Jedi  
> maalzjin’senthru: (Ancient Sith) The center calm (also: they eye of the storm)  
> malsini centruoti threxia ardyti’zilti: (Sith) It is the calm center that directs the maelstrom  
> Service: An offer of the use of one’s body for sex and/or violence, typically to sate or blunt the bloodlust of a Sith, or to generate power/Force energy for one or more participants in typically sexual acts. An offer of Service may come with some form of caveat (such as ‘I need to be able to fight tomorrow’ or ‘I don’t think death would become me’), but there is no requirement that such caveats be respected (although it is considered poor form to violate them). Service is typically offered to Sith, but it is not unheard of for anyone seeking advancement, favors, a chance to assassinate someone, or to manipulate events to offer Service to another.  
> Accepting Service is only considered adultery if there is a possibility for a child to result. A child conceived in Service is always considered a bastard and must be formally adopted into a family or clan with the permission of the family or clan Head. The only exception to this is if the individuals marry before the birth of the child.  
> utreekov’vod: Foolish brother


	4. Cullen: Alderaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine laughed a little. “You have not been to enough diplomatic dinners if you think I can be put off by barely edible food.”
> 
> “Oh, no. You will not get me started on a debate about that,” said Cullen. “Both can be terrible in vastly differing, but still horrifying ways.”
> 
> Josephine raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been to Pleinath IV, I take it?”
> 
> “Yes. And subsisted for a month on outdated MREs while in the wilds of Geuth’x-in’s fourth moon,” he confirmed. “Any awful food story you come up with, I can likely beat. The suffering of padawans is epic and never ending.”
> 
> “Ah, Jedi. You lead such fascinating lives!”
> 
> Cullen eyed her warily. “It’s not that interesting.”
> 
> \-----  
> In which Cullen discovers being a hero is not all it's cracked up to be.

 

Cullen woke with a start, swatting away the cool fingers that caressed his brow.

“What – where –”

“Be calm, padawan.” Knight Shan’s voice was gentle. “You confronted a Sith in the forest and did very well.”

He opened his eyes, staring up into her gentle, green regard.

“Knight Shan.”

“Satele, padawan,” she dimpled at him, helping him sit up on the cot where he lay.

“Then I’m still Cullen,” he groused softly. “We won?”

“We won,” she agreed, sitting back. “It is a very great victory. We’ve taken back Alderaan, although we did not manage to capture all of the Imperial forces. Still, they’ve taken great losses today –”

“Not as great as we’d hoped.” The tall figure of Jace Malcom stood at the flap of the tent. “Turns out, we should have attempted a coup-de-grace. There’s no sign of Malgus yet, despite the tons of rock you dropped on his sorry head.”

Satele half-turned in her seat, leveling a look of resigned disappointment in Major Malcom’s direction. “I did not come here to kill Darth Malgus, Jace – and we are both fortunate that the Force was so much with us today, else we would both be dead.”

“Is it too much to ask that the Force not be with _them?_ ”

A rueful half-smile graced Satele’s mouth and her eyes flashed with humor.

“Probably,” she acknowledged. “We’ve also found no evidence of the mystery Sith that Duchess Organa’s servant made mention of.”

“The mysterious baby deliverer?” Malcom bulled his way in, grabbing another chair. “I still think that they messed with their minds. Ain’t no way some Lord of the Sith would stop to help a woman in pain.”

“How do you know?” asked Cullen.

“Sith don’t do things like that. A Jedi, maybe,” the major gave Satele a sly look. “But a Sith giving in to altruistic impulses? Seems about as likely as a Jedi giving in to carnal ones.”

To Cullen’s surprise, Satele’s skin took on a faintly rosy glow, as though she were blushing.

“Perhaps it is as much a struggle for them to remain selfishly evil as it is for a Jedi to refrain from passionate interaction,” she returned, seemingly unperturbed.

“Yeah, right,” said Malcom. “You doin’ okay kid?”

“I’m not a _kid_. I’m a Jedi Padawan.”

“Yeah. Kid.” Malcom met his eyes squarely. “You did good out there. Had to have done some damage if the Sith turned tail and ran. You gotta know that my men and I really appreciate that. Sith-blooded bastards are damn dangerous.”

Except Cullen hadn’t done anything other than be summarily dismissed by the same Sith he’d let go on Adaarani. Their fight hadn’t even been particularly spectacular, for all that Cullen was almost certain that Dorian could have fried him to a crisp if he’d chosen to do so.

“I –”

Jace held up a hand. “Son, my men have told me how you flushed the bastard out and held your ground, even when he taunted you. Don’t give a thought to the things he said. You can’t trust anything a Sith says, and certainly not what one of those twisty fuckers thinks. You did good today, and the Republic, if it has any sense, will thank you for it.”

“So, too, will the Council, I’m sure.” Satele gave him a rather sunny smile. “But for now, I must return to the mop-up operations.”

“Right,” said Malcom. “I need to speak with Colonel Garza myself, if you’d like company, master Jedi.”

“I would enjoy that,” she said calmly, the faint flush rising once again to her cheeks.

Cullen found it odd, but dismissed the matter from his mind as his Healer came in.

“Padawan Rutherford.” The woman was tall, with rich, dark skin that reminded him of the deep forest loam, an effect emphasized by the subtle greens and scattered browns of the Jedi-cut robes she wore. “I am Matha Giselle, of the Corellian Temple. Please call me Giselle.”

“Cullen,” replied. “I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“And so you should be,” she said, with a blend of tartness and calm that made him smile.

“Now there’s what I like to see.” She smiled at him and it was like sunrise on a desert’s edge, full of color and glory and warmth. “You took a bit of lightning damage – you’ll be fit and ready to fight off more Sith soon.”

He stared up at her. “But I… I barely fought a Sith _this_ time.”

“That’s not what I hear,” Giselle said, beginning to take his vitals. “From what your squad mates say, you fought off a demon and saved all of their lives.”

“But…”

She looked down at him, a small frown gracing her lips. “You’re very unsettled, Padawan.”

“Cullen. It’s – well, it’s just that he said something and it… it’s preying on me.”

“That is what Sith do,” she said. Giselle put a comforting hand atop of his. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

He looked at her. He’d spent a long time with the healers on Coruscant when they’d brought Lord Aquinea back. It had taken months of work with them for him to recognize his false and misleading memories. Cullen still had no recollection of the real events of Adaarani – but he knew for certain that they had been tampered with.

Still, Giselle’s eyes were kind and non-judgmental. She didn’t look like she’d condemn him for his stumbles with the Code.

“He told me – he said that he’d never slain a civilian – wait, no that he’d never slain an unarmed civilian. That _his_ men had never been permitted… what was it he said?” Cullen bit his lip. “He said they’d never been permitted _rapine and pillage_.”

Giselle hummed, taking the seat that Satele had been in.

“He challenged me.”

“This is clear, dear boy,” she said, eyebrow raised. “You have been left with no small amount of scarring to prove it.”

Cullen shook his head. “Not that – I attacked him first, if it comes to that. He told me to think. To ask questions. He could have killed me; I think he could have killed all of us. But he didn’t. He just…”

“Challenged you,” Giselle said, tilting her head. “I think I understand, at least a little why you feel disturbed. The Order teaches that the Sith deceive. That they murder and cheat simply to fulfill themselves and their wishes. Yet this one you have met seems honest to you.”

Cullen nodded.

“It is a curious thing.” Giselle picked up his hand, turning it so his palm faced upward in a gentle curl. “Your Sith harmed you, padawan. That is not in doubt. But it was strangely kind.”

Her finger traced up his palm, following an odd, almost fractal pattern that had settled beneath his flesh in a mesmerizing set of fractal fronds and branches reaching up his arm. “I have seen this before, in those who have been near lightning strikes, when the power of the atmosphere lances down like a sword from the heavens, reminding us that Nature is not so tame nor calm as we might wish her to be.”

Cullen watched as her finger followed the branching paths as they unfurled toward his elbow.

“I have seen the effects of Sith lightning, too,” she said, the tip of her finger resting upon a fully unfurled frond, where it lay bright under his skin. “And it is never so beautiful as this, padawan. I do not think your Sith meant to do you lasting damage. It discharged its power into the air near you, so it would do him the greatest good and you the least harm.”

“His,” Cullen corrected her absently, not looking up from the od designs etched into his flesh.

“It is dangerous to personalize them,” Giselle reproved him gently. “You must be very careful, padawan. You have seen faces – you have learned names. But you must be careful that it doesn’t soften you to them. They are, and will always be, the implacable enemy of the Jedi. If this Sith did not kill you, then he has some other plan.”

“I have no desire to be soft, Healer,” said Cullen. “I know that he – that _the Sith_ must have toyed with my mind. I know that what happened… what happened before, on Adaarani, that can’t the same as what I remember. The healers warned me that I might be susceptible to him again, that they might not have found all the hooks in my mind.”

“How awful.” Giselle gripped his hand, strong and comforting. “I cannot imagine how terrible it would be not to be able to trust your own mind, padawan. That the Sith committed such a crime against you is almost unthinkable.”

“Except that the Sith did think it.” Cullen returned her grasp. “He wants me to question – no doubt he wants me to _Fall._ ”

“Ah, well in that I have little doubt he will fail,” said Giselle. “You are a strong young man, padawan. Your faith in our cause is pure. Still – it cannot hurt to look into his accusations. Not because you lack faith, padawan, but because deception comes in many forms. It is easy to assume that the deception is in a lie. But the most powerful tricks are built upon truths.”

He looked up, meeting dark brown eyes flecked with gold.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You will,” she said, giving his hand one last, firm squeeze. “You will.”

Cullen shook his head.

“That said, we will only be keeping you overnight. I’m sure that Knight Shan will have use for you in the morning, and if she does not, I certainly could use an assistant. For now, I advise that you rest, padawan. Meditate if you can, I am certain you’ll feel the better for it.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Cullen said, suddenly tired. “Meditate and then sleep.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Giselle patted his hand and rose, making notes on the datapad that lay near the foot of his cot. She gave him a soft smile before leaving and Cullen waited a few minutes to see if anyone else was going to come in. He wasn’t sure how he’d rated a personal tent and the personal attention of one of their few on-planet Jedi Healers. For that matter, he wasn’t even certain where he was. The ambient noise told him little – he could hear voices, but nothing close enough to truly make out.

He waited a few more minutes, just listening, before he pulled aside the blankets covering his legs, feeling oddly relieved that he was still wearing pants, and not the weird, thin flimsiplast things that the Healers at the Temple used when they were determined to ensure that you wouldn’t have the courage to leave their hallowed halls.

Cullen ached, his muscles muttering viciously about the abuse they’d suffered over the course of the day, despite the relative kindness of his injuries. Kolto injections could only do so much, and it was obvious he hadn’t spent any time in the tank, since he wasn’t saturated in the verdant, ocean-born scent of the healing liquid.

Cullen cautiously slid his legs over the side of the cot, his bare feet brushing the cold ground, and he sighed gratefully when he saw that someone had left slippers of some kind near the flap that made the door. He stood up, wobbling only slightly as he rose to his feet. It was just a little way to the flap. He could do that.

“I wondered if you’d try to escape.” Lt. Cassandra Pentaghast of the of Havoc squad flipped open the heavy flap. A tall, no-nonsense woman from a border world that sat on the edges of Hutt and Imperial space, Cassandra was tough, gruff, and one of the most morally upright people Cullen had ever met. Her arm slid around his waist as he tried to navigate slipping the shoes on without bending over or sitting down.

“Do or do not,” Cullen joked, weakly, leaning in to her. “There is no try.”

“Well.” Cassandra huffed. “You will not succeed if you do not ask for help, Rutherford.”

“Please, Cassandra,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know where I am.”

“Alderaan.”

“Ha, ha, very funny lieutenant.”

“I thought so.” He could see the corner of her lips rise in a tiny smirk that was exacerbated by the long-healed scar on her cheek. Cullen had never asked how she’d gotten it, though he’d heard a dozen stories from her squad mates, each more ridiculous than the last. His favorite was the one where she’d taken out a Krayt dragon on Tatooine with nothing more than a handful of gravel and a malfunctioning vibroknife.

“Please, Cassandra?”

She helped him limp outside and he could see the graceful spires of the House Panteer enclave, and the surrounding refugee tents. “We are in the Heart of Alderaan, or so my people would call it. The Monarch’s Hall is behind the trees to the west. It has been a great victory today, but not without cost.”

“Cassandra! What are you doing? Padawan Rutherford is supposed to be resting!” Lady Josephine Montilyet of Dubrillion, a young woman who was currently serving as an assistant to the civilian liaison between the Republic Army, Alderaanian Noble Houses, and the Republic Senate swept up to them in a flutter of golden silk and precious gems.

“Lady Montilyet, I assure you that I am fine.”

“A likely story.” Josephine frowned at him, her dark eyes laughing, as she ran a stylus over the surface of her datapad with an ostentatious flourish. “You are quite the hero of the hour, after Knight Shan and Major Malcom.”

“Is that so?”

“The soldiers that were with you have told great tales of your valor, but Knight Shan defeated _Darth Malgus_ , can you imagine it? We don’t have a body, unfortunately, but a number of people saw her throw him into the side of a mountain with the Force, and it’s almost certain we’ll find his body after we move a few tons of rocks.”

“You should simply leave him buried,” said Cassandra. “What is planned for his body is disrespectful to a valiant enemy.”

Josephine gave the impression of rolling her eyes without changing her facial expression.

“Proof of his death would be a great boon to public morale, Lieutenant,” said Josephine. “These last few months Malgus has pulled victories from what should have been disasters. It’s said that either he or one of his apprentices has been leading assaults on occupied worlds where their victories were not assured, and brought them firmly under imperial control.”

“So I have heard,” said Cassandra. “Although I do not understand how it is deemed to be so bad for public morale, aside from the loss of governance of these worlds. Civilian casualties, beyond what would be unavoidable for any soldier, have also dropped in Malgus’ attacks.”

“What?” Cullen stared at Cassandra.

“It is true.” The Lieutenant shrugged. “Where before the Empire was often indiscriminate in their assaults, relying on terror to subjugate populations, certain, clearly targeted worlds have not received such treatment. It is most strange.”

“Although we cannot wish for atrocities,” said Josephine as the two women led him toward something that smelled almost edible, “the lack of any in the last few months is something of a concern. The Empire has been able to successfully paint themselves as liberators – freeing worlds from Republic corruption. Already people begin to whisper that our defense of planets on the outer Rim or near Imperial space is wasted. Some question whether we even have the right to be on those worlds at all.”

Cassandra gave a disgusted snort.

“They are Republic worlds. That is more than sufficient reason for us to defend them.”

“Are they?” Cullen asked.

“There have been a few actions on non-aligned worlds,” said Josephine. “But always in response to reported Sith aggression.”

Cassandra frowned as she helped him sit down on a bench. “You will stay here. I will retrieve food. Have you eaten Lady Montilyet?”

“I keep telling you to call me Josie.”

“When both of us are off duty, perhaps. Do you wish for me to obtain food for you as well?”

“That would be very pleasant, thank you.” Josephine slipped into the seat across from him with a graceful little flounce.

Cassandra gave a disgusted huff, filled with a disdainful kind of amusement. “You have not spent enough time with the Army if you believe in such a possibility. Wait here, padawan. We will _both_ be in the soup if I do not manage to put you back where I found you before your Healer makes her next rounds.”

Cullen found himself smiling as Cassandra marched off toward the serving line. “She’s right, you know. The food will likely be edible, but pleasant may be asking for a bit much.”

Josephine laughed a little. “You have not been to enough diplomatic dinners if you think I can be put off by barely edible food.”

“Oh, no. You will not get me started on a debate about that,” said Cullen. “Both can be terrible in vastly differing, but still horrifying ways.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been to Pleinath IV, I take it?”

“Yes. _And_ subsisted for a month on outdated MREs while in the wilds of Geuth’x-in’s fourth moon,” he confirmed. “Any awful food story you come up with, I can likely beat. The suffering of padawans is epic and never ending.”

“Ah, Jedi. You lead such fascinating lives!”

Cullen eyed her warily. “It’s not _that_ interesting.”

“Of course it must be!” Josephine protested. “Please – you must tell me of your confrontation with the Sith! Senator Iustinia was most pleased to hear that we have had several confrontations that resulted in the death or flight of the Sith in question. The Senate will be releasing accounts of your accomplishments so that the entire Republic can celebrate your success!”

“There’s not much to tell, my Lady,” said Cullen. “I threw a lightsaber at him, he taunted me, and then he left – which is honestly a great relief to me. I’m not Knight Shan, to take on a _Darth_ on my own.”

“Ah,” said Josephine, lips curving into a coy little smile. “It is not as though she was alone. It is said that it is because she was working with Major Malcom that she succeeded in destroying Darth Malgus.”

“Oh?” Cullen schooled his expression to polite curiosity. “They didn’t mention that when they visited me earlier.”

“Oh, it’s absurdly romantic, the way the soldiers of Havoc Squad tell it. They say that the Major had been captured and Knight Shan came flying through the melee just in time to save her beloved.” Josephine sighed. “They’re so adorable together!”

Cullen’s brain shuddered to a stop. “Lady Montilyet, you do understand that Knight Shan and Major Malcom aren’t… well, you know they’re not together like that. Right?”

“Oh, pooh,” said Josephine. “Have you ever seen the way that Major Malcom looks at her? And who can blame him – she’s so brave and lovely. And always so perfectly polite and well behaved. Much too good for a rough soldier, and yet…” she sighed again “…so perfect for one another.”

“Oh, dear,” said Cassandra from behind him, just before she slid a tray of… something in front of him. “Is she rhapsodizing on Major Malcom and Knight Shan _again?_ I keep telling her that Knight Shan would never betray her vows like that, but Josephine thinks the Major is… what was it? Too gloriously manly for any woman to resist?”

“Just because _you_ have no romance in your soul –”

“That is not true –”

“—doesn’t mean Knight Shan doesn’t recognize the ineffable perfection that tends to stand behind her and slightly to her left.”

Cullen choked. “Lady Montilyet, you do understand that Jedi are forbidden romantic or sexual attachments…?”

“Bah!”

“It’s in the very basis of our lives – _there is no passion, there is serenity,_ ” Cullen shook his head. “Knight Shan is one of the best of our Order. She’d never risk Falling to the Dark Side, not when it would put so many people at risk.”

“And I say, ‘bah!’ again. Perhaps even ‘double-bah’!” Josephine took the tray offered to her by Cassandra, frowning thoughtfully at the brown-grey glop that was probably meant to be stew before shrugging and digging in. She gave a thoughtful little hum as she tested the first bite. “I’ve had worse.”

“Of course you have,” said Cassandra. “Please tell me you have not been harassing the poor Padawan about his frightful experience today.”

“All right,” said Josephine. “I won’t.”

“She is quite impossible,” Cassandra confided. “All that is lovely within the Republic, and yet such a deceitful creature. I thought you wanted to check on our resident padawan.”

“I did!” protested Josephine. “I just also need some kind of account to give the Senator. There’s no reason I can’t do both at once.”

“I did not say that is _bad_.” Cassandra shook her head. “I am well aware what it takes to succeed in your profession, Josephine. I have not that patience for it myself – I would rather stab my enemies in the face than convince them to stab themselves in the back – but I recognize an artist when I see one.”

“Every time you say something like that, I want to visit your home world.”

“No, you do not,” Cassandra said flatly. “It is a great mausoleum of a world, far more interested in the politics of the dead than the living.”

“You see? You cannot say things like that and think that a person would not be fascinated.”

Cassandra shook her head, but Cullen saw the tiny, triumphant smirk that flitted across her lips just before Josephine began bombarding her with questions, attention completely diverted from him. Lt. Pentaghast often said that she was too blunt for politics, but she was a master at getting people to do what she wanted them to do.

He picked up his spoon and began eating. What had appeared to be an undifferentiated mass of brown turned out to be a thick and hearty stew, filled with nerf-meat and local herbs and vegetables. Some of the flavors were unfamiliar – he didn’t often eat Alderaanian – but were still good, and he set to his meal with a will.

-0-

Cullen spent the next few days helping with the clean-up. There were bodies to be burned and survivors to be cared for, and devious Senator’s aides to dodge.

Giselle laughed at him the third time he took refuge in the Healer’s tent.

“Such a brave padawan,” she said as her nimble fingers worked, rolling bandages. “Hiding from small girls who only wish to talk to you.”

“The woman is a menace,” Cullen retorted without much heat. “She keeps pestering me to tell her all about my confrontation with the Sith and I have no idea what to say. That I chucked my lightsaber at him and then he electrocuted me a little bit?”

“It bothers you a great deal,” Giselle observed. “Perhaps then, it would be wise to explore your memory of the event in greater detail.”

“I’ve already spent a lot of time exploring my memories,” he said, not quite sullen.

“You have said that this Sith already has a history of interfering with your memory. Wouldn’t you like to ensure that this one clear of tampering?”

“When would he have had the time?”

“It is a good question,” said Giselle. “And good questions deserve good answers, don’t you think?”

He blinked at her, and in her words he heard an echo of Dorian’s scornful laughter. _Is that what they told you? You should ask about their time on Adaarani, instead of letting the Jedi_ tell _you what you_ think _you know._

“You’re right,” said Cullen. “Good questions _do_ deserve good answers.”

“Then perhaps,” she said placidly, “you should go looking for them.”

“You’re right, Healer.”

Giselle flashed him a small grin. “I’m a Knight, actually – healing’s a secondary specialty.”

“‘The most powerful tricks are built on truths’?” Cullen wanted to feel betrayed, but couldn’t. “Are you here as a healer?”

“Not intentionally,” she said calmly. “I came to Alderaan as part of a task force created by Senator Dorotea Iustinia – but in the immediate aftermath my healing skills were in demand.”

“Task force?”

Giselle shrugged noncommittally. “The Senate arms committee has questions. They always have questions.”

“Politics,” Cullen said.

“Oh, yes.” Giselle picked up another bandage. “Politics.”

Cullen took his leave.

“Ah! There you are!” Satele’s voice caught him as soon as he entered the square formed by the healer’s tents and the far end of the commissariat.

“Knight Shan!” Cullen held out a hand, taking her forearm in a warrior’s grip of welcome. “How goes the cleanup?”

“We can honestly say that as of this afternoon, all of the Imperials on this world are dead or have been taken into custody.” The soldiers and civilians in earshot gave a loud cheer, though Satele looked grim. She lowered her voice. “Malgus was last seen yesterday, in Alliestia. We don’t know how he escaped the rock fall, but we have reason to believe that he likely made his way off world. We know that he was badly injured – but death is not confirmed.”

Cullen swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry as dust. “And so the war goes on.”

“Indeed.” Green eyes sparked with something like anger. “At least two hyperspace-capable shuttles made it off planet within the last day, but the Empire has left without their destroyers or capital ships, so we can honestly claim a great victory, even if we might prefer a more… decisive outcome.”

“Well, fuck,” said Cullen, and Satele gave a startled laugh.

“Queen Celene will be holding a grand celebration tonight. She would like you to be there, to honor your success against the Sith.”

“Satele, I didn’t _do_ anything. I don’t know why he didn’t kill us, but it wasn’t because of anything I did,” Cullen hissed.

“You did nothing that you remember,” Satele rebuked. “But you know that the Sith is tricky, Cullen. We can’t know that the Healers caught every trap and trigger the Sith might have given you on Adaarani.”

“But why leave me alive?”

Her head tilted. “That’s what we need to find out.”

Giselle popped her head out of the tent she was working in, and Cullen saw her frown at the sight of Knight Shan before her expression was schooled to one of polite emptiness.

“Knight Matha,” Satele greeted as Giselle approached. “It’s been a few years, but I’m glad to see that our Corellian brethren have chosen to support the Republic and Alderaan in this time of need.”

“I’m sure,” said Giselle drily. “Although I’m not here as a representative of the Green Jedi. That would be Knight Asignon.”

Satele raised an eyebrow at that.

“Politics, Knight Shan, you know how it is.”

“Indeed I do.” Satele’s small grimace was comical, and Cullen laughed. “Then I will find him as well. The queen wishes to recognize the contributors to our great success this evening.”

“She would do better to feed her people and provide shelter.”

“We have achieved a great victory,” said Satele. “And it deserves celebration. Worlds all across the Republic will be rejoicing with us.”

“And will the Republic be providing the feasting in the midst of famine and displacement?”

“Knight Matha.”

“Relief efforts are doubtless on their way,” said Cullen, surprising himself. “This is _Alderaan_ , not some Rim world like Tatooine.”

Satele looked startled by Cullen’s instinctive bitterness, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew them to be true. Alderaan was one of the Core worlds of the Republic, a founding polity rich in history and thought. The need of Alderaan would be met with speed, not like the smaller systems the Empire had snapped up early in the war.

“It will do the Republic good to see both the victory and the rebuilding efforts,” Satele replied, calmly clinical.

“Of course.” Cullen replied, thinking of the words Giselle had spoken to him when he’d awakened days ago. He caught her eye and she gave him a small, cynical smile.

“I suppose that means that I should find something more formal to wear,” said Cullen.

“The Queen’s tailor and armorer are both standing by. She anticipated that you might not have appropriate gear with you. She said she wanted you to consider it a gift.”

“Very well,” said Cullen. “No doubt I should present myself as soon as possible.”

“That would likely be best. You need only to present yourself at the palace, they’ll know where to take you.”

Cullen took off at a brisk jog, weaving his way through tents and people with care. Excitement floated in a cloud, raising spirits, even amongst wounded and jaded soldiers. As he passed he could see men and women in house Panteer’s livery moving about and clearing spaces. Viewscreens seemed to be going up, along with tables that would likely be filled by evening with food and drink.

How many places on Alderaan were like this, he wondered, with the royal hand open and seemingly beneficent? There were cities that, like Alliestia, had been reduced to so much rubble and ruin – their people scattered into the hills. Were they, too, seeing tables and viewscreens set out? Or were they still a fractured diaspora amidst the trees and rivers, still unaware that their own war had been won?

“There you are!” Josephine bounced up to him. “You must come! Her majesty has been calling for the Heroes of Alderaan all morning, and has been most displeased that you have not been available for her to reward.”

“I thought you worked for Senator Iustinia.”

“Her majesty held open Court this morning,” Josephine told him. “Master Satele was here, and Colonel Garza – but not you and not the Major. You could just see the disappointment on Her Majesty’s face. I would have come to get you, Dorotea said I shouldn’t, even though you’re my friend.”

Cullen blinked at her, nonplussed. Despite her continual nagging to give him some kind of story about his fight with Dorian – _the Sith_ – he was quite fond of her, but he hadn’t quite thought of her as a _friend._ Master Stannard had always cautioned him against creating friendships, or caring too deeply about the people he served. It was not, in her opinion, beneficial to the mission of any Jedi.

_Caring is to no one’s advantage. It’s a weakness that must be purged if we are to be impartial, padawan._

The words rang sourly in his mind, like a long-fractured bell.

Josephine tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, leading him gently. “Come along – you must see the armor Queen wants to gift you. It’s amazing!”

“Josephine –”

“They have so much history, can you imagine?” Josephine sighed wistfully. “I was with the Senator when Queen Celene announced it, you see. One of her ancestors fought with Revan and Malak, and then against them – he was one of the last Jedi of House Panteer to fight Sith.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” said Cullen as he followed along.

“Would I joke?” she asked, ushering him into a room graced with far too many mirrors and what looked like a small army of servants in Panteer livery. “The armor must be fitted to you if you are to wear it. I am most envious, I must admit. To be granted such a piece of galactic history!”

A human woman on the far side of the room looked up as they entered. Tall and fair, she stood out amidst the shorter, darker stock of the Alderaanian servants who milled around her.

“Senator!” Josephine called in a light voice that carried improbably. “I told you I would find him!”

Dorotea Iustinia brushed back a long lock of silvering golden hair, smiling as she rose to greet them.

“Padawan Rutherford! It’s good to see you looking so well after your ordeal.” The senator held out her hands in welcome. Cullen stared at them for a moment, barely recognizing the gesture as a traditional Thedasian welcome as it had been so long since he’d been back to the world of his birth. Josephine released his elbow, making a discreet little cough, and he placed his hands in the Senator’s. Dorotea grinned and they each placed the kiss of welcome on the other’s palm, deftly closing their partner’s fingers over the gift.

“My lady, I thank you for the welcome.”

“You should visit our offices more often,” she countered. “You would receive it more often.”

Cullen couldn’t help it – he laughed. “It would please me to do so, but I _am_ Jedi.”

Dorotea sighed dramatically. “Ah! Scruples strike again!”

“Indeed they do, Senator. We wouldn’t want an appearance of impropriety, would we?”

She raised one golden brow, honeyed-hazel eyes suddenly serious. “I am far more concerned with actual improprieties, dear boy. Appearances are often deceiving as I’m am sure you are well aware.”

“Indeed, Senator.”

“I would like to know how you are doing, padawan. If you weren’t a Jedi, you would be one of my constituents, and regardless you are a son of Thedas. So few of us are called to become Jedi, we treasure those who are.” She smiled, dimples appearing unexpectedly in her cheeks. “So it was a matter of concern to me – and to our world – when it became obvious that you’d been terribly misused by the Sith. I just want to be able to assure our people that the children we give to the Jedi are cared for when such things happen.”

Cullen blushed, embarrassed. “I had no idea. I’ve spent a good deal of time with the Healers and am quite well, I assure you.”

“Ah – there’s the humility I’ve heard so much about. You’ll find it quite taxed this evening. As I’m sure my assistant has told you –” at this Dorotea leveled an amused not-glare at Josephine, who smiled, utterly unrepentant “—the house of Panteer is going to offer you a gift. For the sake of the Republic I ask that you accept it.”

“Senator – in general it is forbidden for Jedi to receive such things, especially as… well, I’m not a knight. And I’m not the one who kicked a Dark Lord into a cliff and dropped a mountain onto him.”

“Knight Shan will receive her own reward, I’m sure – but you, young man…” Dorotea shook her head. “You are the proof that the Sith cannot win, even if they’ve taken a foothold.”

Josephine sat down beside him and rested her hand on his knee. “You do not know the symbol that you’ve become. Knight Shan is remarkable; a holo-movie hero whose name will be written large in the annals of history. You – you’re a padawan. A student. People can relate to what you’ve done.”

“Josie’s quite right,” said Dorotea. “Your story can be representative of a person, a polity – even a world. The whole Republic watched as we revealed the diabolical cruelty of the Sith. They know how you were harmed. But they’ve also seen you rise above it, to confront your tormenter. Here you were strong enough to defeat them and protect a world.”

Cullen stared at her, something heavy and bitter weighting his gut. “Like the Republic. The Empire has been winning, but we’ve grown strong enough to fight back. And if Alderaan gives me armor, or Knight Shan a weapon – it’s symbolic of what the Republic needs to do in order to win. Weapons – armor, ships and shields…” he paused “…and unity. Soldiers, Jedi, Senate, and a planetary leader – all working together to free a world from the Empire.”

The Senator nodded.

“So the actual truth doesn’t matter, then?” he challenged. “I have no idea why I’m alive, Senator, but it wasn’t through any prowess of my own.”

“Are you so sure of that?” asked Josephine.

The Senator looked chagrined, but determined. “Padawan, right now the Republic needs hope, however it can get it. Were it possible to negotiate a peace, I would be the first in line to demand that kind of resolution – but so long as we remain weak and divided, they’ve no reason to parley.”

“I want no part of this,” Cullen said. “You want to deceive the public into believing I’m something I’m not, just to… what?”

“Cullen, please.” He looked down into Josephine’s liquid brown eyes. “You _are_ a hero. You’ve survived what many of us cannot even comprehend. Is it so much to ask?”

He took a deep breath, pushing away his feelings of betrayal and revulsion. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._ The litany ran through his mind, settling over the rocky landscape of his thoughts like a heavy blanket fresh-fallen snow, bringing cold, objective calm and brilliant focus.

Cullen wasn’t required to like what was necessary to ensure the greater good – he needed only to do it. He could see Dorotea’s argument: the citizens of the Republic needed to know their own strength, needed to see themselves reflected in the Republic’s victories. Where it was difficult to match the resolve of a storied Jedi Knight, anyone might say ‘If a student can do it, if a boy can stand up to tyranny, so can I.’

It wasn’t ignorance they were peddling to the citizens of the Republic so much as a more meaningful – if ephemeral truth.

Cullen nodded once, sharply. “If I must.”

“It won’t be so bad,” said Dorotea. “I swear to you. We’ll win hearts and minds, padawan, and remind everyone that this is a war that we _can_ win, if we’re strong and stand together.”

-0-

The ceremony, to Cullen’s surprise, wasn’t held in front of Castle Panteer. Instead they were flown to Pallista, the very first conquest the Empire had made, to stand united upon the artfully arranged damage and visible reconstruction of Castle Organa.

The rebuilding went no farther than the range of the holocameras, but then neither did most of the damage. Unlike a handful of smaller cities, like Alliestia and Venlacia, which had suffered orbital bombardment as object lessons at the beginning of the Empire’s campaign, Pallista had been treated gently, and would require little more than cosmetic work for the residents.

As Cullen wandered through the celebrating crowds he wondered at the difference. There were those – like House Thul – who had collaborated with the Empire, surrendering almost as soon as Malgus’ broadcast informing them that they had been chosen to join the Empire had been made. House Organa had not been one of them, and yet the damage to the infrastructure and populace had been minimal.

Cullen ducked behind a behind a broken pillar, it’s edges softened enough by time that it clearly had not been a product of the recent invasion. A small pack of holonet news reporters went by, seeking horror stories from an already traumatized populace.

“…it wasn’t like that,” he heard a man protest in the distance. “They didn’t target _us_ , the regular people. The first few hours were terrible – you know how people can be, in it for themselves, no matter what’s going on… looting…”

He resumed walking, keeping to the shadows.

“…it was awful, but then this one soldier came in, a twi’lek, and she stopped him… No, Reglan was our neighbor. The soldier was an _Imperial…_ ”

“…heard that the Sith who led the charge delivered a baby, right there on the street. Called his personal medic to make sure mom and kid were all right, too…”

“…only case I heard, the Captain shot the guy in the street as an object lesson to his men, and asked one of the women soldiers to make sure the girl got to the medical tents…”

It was almost funny, how the reporters kept pushing to find atrocities, only to find that – as invaders went – the ones that had come to Pallista had been remarkably polite.

It was almost as though a different war had been waged here in the heart of Organa lands. Despite Malgus and his proselytizing and threats from the very steps where the Queen had opened the celebrations with praise and rewards, the people who had remained in the city had been more harmed by their own people than by the invaders.

The reporters, it seemed, weren’t going to get the stories of horror that the salivating Republic was waiting for. Cullen wended his way back toward the Castle, this time avoiding the crowds. It bothered him, far more than he could adequately articulate, even to himself, that these people _hadn’t_ been subjected to the horrors that they’d always heard the Empire indulged in.

 _At least I’ve never killed an unarmed civilian, nor permitted my men rapine and pillage… Republic hypocrites_. The words echoed in his brain, sharp and unwelcome in the manifest proof that at least some of Dorian’s claims appeared to be true.

“Hey! There he is! The man of the hour!” Rough and jovial, the voice broke Cullen’s reverie. He looked up as a large hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Long time no see, kid!”

Cullen stumbled a little under the unexpected force of the blow, nose wrinkling a bit at the scent of alcohol and something else he couldn’t place. Eyes so bloodshot they seemed entirely made of red stared down at him from a face that looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Do I know you?” he asked, feeling slightly shamed – he could see the insignia of Havoc Squad on the man’s and the sensation that he _should_ remember that face.

“Awwww, I’m heartbroken! Although they said the Sith messed with your memory…”

“Corporal Samson,” Cassandra’s voice rapped out from behind the soldier. “I believe you are due for sentry duty this evening. I suggest you find your way to the medical tent for a soberant before you report for duty.”

“Awww. Come on Lieutenant, it’s a party! We should be celebrating!” Samson let him go, staggering over to Cassandra. “Come on, lighten up, will you?”

“This is me, light as a thranta and dancing on air, corporal. You will report to the medical tents and then to your duty station, unless you would prefer to spend the night in… what is your colorful term…? Lockup?”

“Dude, come on,” said one of the other soldiers. “You’re gonna get us all into trouble.”

“An’ whyfor?” sneered Samson. “Pretty little Jedi gettin’ all the attention for the work soldiers did. Who flushed out all them damn Sith on Adaarani? Us. Who cut the damn bastards down here? Us. Not some snot-nosed Jedi brat who let them get away – not once, but _twice.”_ Samson shoved Cullen. “An’ he don’t even reeeemember, ’cause he’s to fucking weak t’know fact from fiction. How’d you get away, _Sir Padawan?_ Suck the Sith’s mighty cock? Appeal to his passion an’ not his anger?”

They were starting to draw a crowd, and Cullen could see the lights of a holocamera approaching.

“Your master knew what was what,” said Samson. Several hands grabbed him, and he brushed them off. “I’m goin’.   But fuck this bullshit. Poor widdle padawan, so amazing he got over hisself, just to be as bad at killin’ Sith as he ever was before.”

“Leave,” said Cassandra. “Now, corporal, before someone discovers the need to find Major Malcom.”

The man stalked away, leading a small coterie of angry soldiers.

“What in the galaxy was _that_ about?”

“I do not know, but he has been a member of Havoc far longer than I.” Cassandra’s eyes followed the clot of soldiers as they moved through the crowd. “I was not present for the assault on Adaarani.”

Cullen looked at her, surprised by the bitter cold that he found in her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Me? Why are you asking me?” Her eyes warmed slightly as she turned her gaze away from Samson and onto him. “I am not the one so egregiously assaulted by men who should have more respect.”

“You appear to be angry,” said Cullen, at a loss.

“I do not like it when soldiers disrespect their comrades-in-arms, whether they are from another squad, another branch of the military, or are of the militant Orders who fight at our side.” She shook her head. “I have heard some rumblings – the queen was very generous in her praise of the Jedi and of our victory. But when she barely thanks the Major, or speak of the dead who came here to free her people from such tyranny… well.”

She gave a disgusted little huff just as the reporters arrived.

“Padawan Rutherford! I’m so glad we found you!” said the reporter, a sweet-faced togrutan with red-and-white patterned lekku.

“That makes one of us,” Cullen said drily. “I’ve nothing of import to say at the moment, other than that Her Serene Majesty, Celene Panteer, has been most generous in her praise. For myself, I am grateful for the support of the Republic and the people of Alderaan. Without the support of the Senate and the resistance of the Alderaanian people, it would have been much harder to liberate this world from the Empire’s oppression.”

The togrutan, who he suspected he should recognize, narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze sharp as blades.

“We’ve heard rumor that the Queen’s generosity is overzealous, that the Jedi were not as instrumental in Alderaan’s freedom as her beneficence would suggest.”

“I’ve heard that as well,” said Cullen. “And I don’t disagree. I’m just a student. Not a knight, not a master – and all I did was distract a powerful Sith so he couldn’t join the bulk of the battle. It’s a small thing, that moment of defiance, but placed on top of a thousand acts of rebellion, it means something.”

There was a soft beep at Cassandra’s waist, and she pulled out a small datapad, frowning slightly as she scrolled through whatever message she’d received.

“Ah. I am sorry to interrupt,” she said, cool and calm. “Ms. Daryn’ka, I must apologize, but it seems that Padawan Rutherford is needed elsewhere.”

“But –”

“A Jedi’s work is never done, it seems.” Cassandra gave an abrupt little bow and then began leading him away. Startled, Cullen followed.

“Do not look back,” Cassandra murmured, almost too low to hear. “They’ll smell blood in the water.”

She took him in an almost direct line back to the palace, parting the crowds with nothing but the steel of her gaze and the strength of her will.

“Lieutenant?” he asked as they passed into Castle Organa.

“Yes?”

“Did you just fake a summons?”

“Perhaps.” She pulled him through the security perimeter. “You did very well, but Senator Iustinia thought it best that you not be allowed to speak for too long. I think it foolish – you are Jedi, and as such very well-spoken. You are not like as to make a serious error in dealing with the press.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“For the compliment, or for the rescue?”

He could see the curl of her mouth, although she kept her eyes focused ahead of her and he laughed, prompting a chuckle from her as well.

“I think you will be able to find your way to your rooms from here, if you wish it. If nothing else, you should be safe from prying reporters, at least until morning.” Cassandra shrugged. “I wish to speak with the duty officer, and ensure that Corporal Samson is properly censured for his behavior.”

“Really, Cassandra, that isn’t necessary –” he protested rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, but it is,” she said, a sharp sting in her voice. “I do not know what the Major has a habit of tolerating, but no soldier in my unit will behave has the corporal has done without facing repercussion.” She looked at him, expression softening. “It is not about you, my friend. It is about appropriate behavior, especially while he wears the insignia of the Republic and of Havoc, although I would be only a little less irate if he had been in civilian clothes.”

“I suppose so.”

“I hope you have a pleasant evening. I believe that the Senator and Josephine should be in the private audience hall upstairs, if you wish to join them. I believe Knight Matha indicated that she would assist in the medical tents, if you wish to brave the crowds to join her.”

“What of Knight Shan?”

“That I do not know.”

Cullen nodded. “Thank you, Cassandra – I do appreciate your help.”

“Any time I may be of assistance.” She turned on her heel and spun with military precision, striding out the way they’d come. Cullen stared after her for a moment, feeling both relieved and strangely ill-at-ease, as though he’d missed something important.

It had been a long day, and an eventful one. Suddenly overwhelmed, Cullen found that he couldn’t stand the idea of being near people. Even standing ostensibly alone in the grand audience hall, he was still surrounded by servants, their light in the Force pressing on him like licks of flame. He bit his lip.

He couldn’t go outward – first there were the crowds, but even if a thousand people weren’t milling in the courtyard before the castle doors, between him and the picturesque wilderness, it would be irresponsible for him to disappear. He and the other Jedi would likely be recalled soon for redeployment wherever the Order thought they would do the greatest good.

Cullen reached out, letting his Force awareness reach up, instead of out. The lower floors of the Castle bustled with life, but as he got farther up, the fewer he could sense. He let the Force guide his footsteps, seeking whatever solitude might be available, and wended his way sightlessly upwards. Eventually he came to a door that led out to a rooftop garden he would never have suspected existed given the soaring arches and shining curves of Alderaanian architecture.

The air was rich with the scent of night-blooming flowers. They hung suspended from delicate, arching trellises, glowing blue-white like lesser moons above grassy walkways. Something in Cullen relaxed as he crossed the threshold, feeling as though the small manicured microcosm welcomed him with a gentle sigh. He padded outward, each step lightly crushing fragrant herbs. Cullen pulled off his boots, to better feel the living plants beneath his feet, carrying them in one hand so the other could brush along the bioluminescent petals and release glittering star-trails of pollen in his wake.

For the first time in months, Cullen felt something like whole.

He followed the meandering paths until he could look up and see the shine and glitter of the galaxy arching high above. The shielding that kept the garden warm had been tuned to eliminate artificial light. The stars of the galactic Core were bright, clustering in prismatic arrays across the velvet sky and Cullen sighed.

Behind him the door hissed open, and Cullen turned, disappointed at losing his solitude.

Jace Malcom walked in, speaking to someone behind him.

“…know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in proper Jedi robes before,” he said, stepping to one side as Knight Shan followed him in.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and Cullen ducked aside, into leafy shadow as the pair walked over to a small patio table, setting out food and drink.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you in a skirt, Satele. I thought maybe your armor was plating you grew.”

“Very funny, Jace,” she said, pulling off the heavy brown cloak she wore over the ornate robes the Queen had given her to wear for the ceremony earlier in the evening.

“I thought so.” The major looked around. “For fuck’s sake, do these people know how to make anything sturdy? These chairs look like they’d break if a child sat on them.”

Satele snorted a laugh. “It’s Alderaan – art and beauty over form and function.”

“Yeah,” said Jace, but Cullen noticed that he wasn’t looking at the chairs, or even at the garden. “It don’t hold a candle to beauty and form _and_ function.”

Satele’s laughter faded and she turned. “Jace.”

“It’s been years, master Jedi, and every time I see you, it’s like a punch in the gut. Ain’t fair, really, that you’re so beautiful. The Order oughta make you wear a sack, if they don’t want passion following you around like a lost puppy.”

“We’ve talked about this before –”

“I know. I know. But the first time that bastard near killed you, I didn’t know you from that fucker we was escorting. This time… this time – it was close. Too void-damned, close.”

“Jace.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said. “Tell me that you didn’t appear like the wrath of an ancient god because that son of a rancor woulda killed me.”

Cullen watched Satele bite her lip. “I can’t.”

The Force seemed to surge and ripple as she stared up at the Major.

“I can’t.” Even from the distance he was at, Cullen could see her fingers tremble as she touched the new scars that crossed Jace Malcom’s face. “Force help me, I _can’t._ ”

Malcom caught her hand, pressing his lips into her palm, and she caught her breath. It was, Cullen thought, strangely beautiful when her control shattered, the Force spinning out in a wave of power fueled by desire.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Jace’s words were muffled against Satele’s skin, “and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” she said again, using the hand Jace held to pull him close. “I _won’t_.”

Her words were lost, swallowed as Jace took her mouth and Cullen had to stifle a moan. He could feel them both, Satele’s shields broken by the force of her own desires, and Malcom’s need so strong that Cullen wasn’t sure if the erection he felt was even his own.

He felt dirty, watching as Jace Malcom ran wondering fingers over Satele’s curves, unfastening her tunic and exposing pale, scarred skin to the glow of the stars. Dirty, and wrong, and empowered with every moan that was drawn from her throat, each orgasm that shook her body. He could feel echoes of her slick heat, the sublime tightness that welcomed each rolling stroke as they fucked, the taste of her cunt wet and sweet on his tongue.

It took everything Cullen had to remain silent and obscured in the Force. It wouldn’t do, he thought almost hysterically, for Satele to sense him in the bushes, blushing and hopelessly aroused, just because he’d felt her pleasure flooding the Force.

Cullen sighed in silent relief when they dressed, he and Satele both vibrating with energy. If this was what Sith felt when they gave over to their passions, it was little wonder that they believed that it was a better and greater path to power than the sterile meditations of the Jedi. The energy gleaned did not feel Dark, but the feelings around it?

Lust and desire and covetousness. Protection and ownership and fierce belonging.

Those – those were the feelings of Attachment that Jedi were supposed to eschew, lest they fall into Darkness.

Cullen whimpered, soft and aching once they’d left, taking care of his own, long-neglected erection in the gentle light of dawn. He lay in the mess of his own orgasm, trying to come to terms with himself and what he’d seen and felt.

Satele Shan, the widely held hero of the Order, fallen to passion, even if she had not yet Fallen. He, himself, flush with stolen energies and a resurgence of the desires he’d spent the last year trying to excise from his mind.

He had no idea what to do.

By the tenets of the Order, he should report her – and by extension himself – to the Council for evaluation. But if he did that… if he did that, Knight Shan would be pulled from the battlefront, which would be disastrous. _He_ would be pulled from the front lines, which at this moment, with the Queen’s gift sitting in his rooms, would be counter-productive.

Cullen stared up at the sky, into the pure crystalline blue and sighed.

It hadn’t seemed Dark, what Satele and Jace had shared.   If anything it had felt… golden. Pure and warm, like the sunlight upon his skin. It was everything around it that had felt dangerous. Small sparks of fear, little flickers of anger polluting the golden core of their mutual regard.

Cullen snorted to himself. This was undoubtedly the reason that he was the student and the Masters were the Masters.

And yet… Master Meredith had condemned all strong feelings – but, without doubt – it was Satele’s feelings, her strong Attachment to Major Malcom that had ultimately won the battle. What if – what if she’d been wrong? What if _they_ were wrong? What if it _all_ was wrong?

Cullen curled onto his side, relishing the scent of rich, dark earth, and green growth. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death. There is the Force._

But there _was_ passion, there _was_ emotion – wasn’t it deliberately ignorant to ignore them?

He heard the door swish open and curled tighter upon himself.

“Oh, my.” Knight Matha’s voice – _Giselle’s_ voice – was calm. “Padawan Rutherford – Cullen? Are you here?”

He didn’t want to answer, but knew himself to be trapped, his hand shoved into his breeches and sticky with semen. It would do him no good to hide; his shields were tattered with doubt and shredded by his own fears.

Giselle’s footsteps were muffled by the low-growing herbs and grasses, but the fresh-green scent rolled over his nose and tongue as she approached, and he shuddered, pulling ever-more-tightly into a ball of confusion and misery.

He felt her kneel behind him, a gentle hand stroking comfort down his back.

“It seems someone had rather a good time here last night.” Giselle’s voice was rich with humor. “Is this the first time you’ve been trapped in a garden by someone else’s amorous pursuits?”

He groaned into his knees. “You might say that, yes.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it? All that passion and pleasure, and you get stuck watching or listening since it’s terribly rude to be the interruptus for someone else’s coitus. Or, as some of my colleagues have said – it’s rarely all right to be a cock-block.”

Cullen choked on a laugh, relaxing slightly.

“Is this a thing they say on Corellia?”

“You should hear the jokes they tell on Dantooine,” she said, pulling away slightly.   He heard her shift, and he turned his head to see her sit, full lotus in the shifting green-gold light. “You were raised on Coruscant, yes?”

“Yes.”

Giselle tsked. “That explains it. I could feel you all the way across the castle.”

Cullen groaned, burying his face in his knees.

“Don’t worry, I doubt any of the other Jedi noticed. We’ve been spending quite a bit of time together, and I _did_ do your evaluation after the Sith. I’ve been keeping an eye on your comfort levels, especially since we don’t know all of the things the Sith might have done.”

“Stop talking. _Please._ ”

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, padawan.” He could feel her amusement, but it was kind and without mockery. “We all go through it. On Corellia, the masters acknowledge that for many species, it is both unrealistic and inadvisable to teach celibacy, whatever the Council might try to dictate. Complete suppression of desire only gives Darkness a way in. If you do not fear the things your body needs, there is less chance that it will betray you into Falling.”

Cullen shuddered.

“But…. passion leads to the Dark Side.”

“So do many things, padawan. Fear, anger, desperation.” He opened his eyes and met hers, the curve of her lips too sad to be called a smile. “Self-hate. Despair.”

“I wish I’d been taken to Corellia, then,” Cullen said softly.

“It’s strange,” she said, leaning back a little, and raising her face to the morning sun. “The few children that leave Thedas often come to us, being culturally better aligned with the Green Jedi or the Masters at Dantooine. There was a bit of a kerfluffle when it was discovered that a Thedas-born initiate had been taken to Coruscant. But it is no matter – we are all of us Jedi.”

“Yes,” he said softly, finding himself relaxing, just a little. It was enough to let him breathe, to let him still himself and find a place of calm from which he could order his thoughts and feelings.

“And there you are,” she said softly as he sat up, still embarrassed by the mess in his pants and the images that flashed unwanted in his mind. “Let it go, padawan.”

He took a breath, letting himself feel it all, just for a moment – the vicarious love, the want, the arousal, and let it pass through him without judgement. For the first time in months – in _years –_ he didn’t feel the bite of Master Meredith’s disapproval, or her carefully controlled rage. There was nothing in his thoughts but blessed silence as he let it all float away, carried by the Force.

For once calm he felt wasn’t empty, it was just a pool of peace and contentment that welcomed him.

Closing his eyes, Cullen lifted his face toward the sun. “I wish you’d been my master.”

“Ah, padawan,” said Giselle. “If you wish it, that is something that likely can be arranged.”


	5. Cullen: Coruscant, Corellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight Matha turned and smiled at him and something in Cullen’s chest loosened. “He’s not a burden or a trial or a problem to be solved. There is the question of why this Sith would choose flight instead of engaging Cullen – it is a curious circumstance indeed – but I will not have you, any of you, act as though Cullen is just some cog in the great machine that is the Jedi that needs repair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I got to in November -- but the ride ain't over, not by a long shot. My goal is a chapter a month, so that I have time to work on other projects as well *cough*Sith Warrior Saaraij*cough*alllll the spoilers for SWTOR*cough*

There was a remarkable amount of resistance to Knight Matha’s declaration that she would take Cullen as a Padawan. Cullen had been aware that the Green Jedi of Corellia had a reputation for having differences with the main Jedi Temple on Coruscant, but had not known how deeply acrimonious the relationship between the respective councils had become.

The relationship between a padawan and their master was supposed to be sacrosanct – a choice made between the acolyte, or in Cullen’s case, orphaned padawan, and the master. It shouldn’t make a difference to anyone what Jedi – if any – chose to take him up as a student, and certainly shouldn’t have resulted in the very polite storm occurring in the Council Chambers. Cullen focused on his breathing, trying to listen and dissipate his impending panic at the same time.

“…then the two of you can unmake it,” said Master Arketch, the Ithorian master’s head weaving in dismay. “Padawan Rutherford is not ready for a new master. The damage done to him on Adaari was great, and it is not the belief of this council that he has fully healed from the experience and that he is in need of an experienced master, not a knight from an order that promotes laxity in emotional control.”

“I beg to differ,” Knight Matha offered with a small smile. “Both in your characterization of the Green Jedi and in your assessment of yon padawan. Cullen needs a master that he trusts and who will treat him with the kindness and the respect that he deserves. More than that, he deserves to have his choices and decisions respected. After all, is that not the core of the damage he took? Having his will and memory subverted?”

Arketch sputtered, sitting back.

“Knight Matha, we don’t wish to sound like we’re attempting to take Cullen’s choices away from him.” One of the human Masters – Syo Bakarn, who had recently been appointed to the Council in light of a series of diplomatic and military successes against the Empire – leaned forward. “I know Cullen, he is a bright and engaging young man with a great deal of potential. I was part of the team that worked with him on his return from Adaari, and while I believe that most of the hooks the Sith clearly laid in his mind seem to be gone, his behavior on Alderaan _is_ suspect.”

Cullen’s breath froze.

“Padawan Rutherford allowed the Sith he was pursuing to escape,” Master Bakarn continued, relentless. “We’ve been told by one of the soldiers in the squad assigned to him that he froze upon seeing the Sith and did not even attempt to engage him in combat, which likely ensured the eventual escape of Darth Malgus and at least two to five hundred of the Imperial Forces on Alderaan. We allowed the Queen’s reward because it has been excellent for morale, but Padawan Rutherford needs to be seen and cleared by the healers before any decision he makes can be honored.”

“The same healers who allowed him to be sent into combat that we knew would involve Sith?” Giselle’s voice dripped honey. “The ones who have made such little effort to help Cullen deal with the holes in his memory? Those healers?”

“Are you suggesting that our healers are not up to the task of caring for one padawan?”

“I think that they’ve done rather an abominable job so far,” said Giselle. “I _am_ certified as a healer, and I have experience in the mind-healing arts. I agree that damage has been done to Cullen – but while I’ve little doubt that the Temple Healers are well equipped to deal with _a_ padawan, evidence suggests that they are not of beneficial assistance to _this_ padawan.” She turned and smiled at him and something in Cullen’s chest loosened. “He’s not a burden or a trial or a problem to be solved. There is the question of _why_ this Sith would choose flight instead of engaging Cullen – it is a curious circumstance indeed – but I will not have you, any of you, act as though Cullen is just some cog in the great machine that is _Jedi_ that needs repair.”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Master Bakarn.

“Then allow us our choice, Master Bakarn. I know that our Orders do not always see eye-to-eye, but it has been over a year since this young man returned from Adaari and you have made little progress in healing him. It is not as though he is lost to you if he turns to Corellia.” She gave the council a narrow-eyed look. “As it is, Thedas is one of the sector’s outlying planets, and he should have been raised by us to begin with.”

There was a wave of… something, something Cullen couldn’t identify, that went through the room. Had it been any group other than Masters that sat upon the Council, he would have called it guilt. As it stood, he could only call it strange.

“You will not be swayed?” Arketch hummed. “Very well then. Padawan Rutherford, you are dismissed from the Order, by your own choosing.”

“I beg your pardon?” Giselle asked in disbelief.

“If you would have such a disgrace as a member of your order, so be it,” said the Ithorian Master, “but we are well rid of any padawan who would let a Sith go free – _twice_ – and then turn his back on those who would aid him in finding and eradicating the corruption he so clearly must hold. I wish you luck in getting him accepted by the Corellian Temple, _Knight_.”

“Wait – what?” Horror gripped Cullen. “What are you saying?”

Master Bakarn came over to him, holding his hand out. “You have failed the tests put to you, Mr. Rutherford. Please surrender your lightsaber. The Order wishes you well on your future endeavors.”

Reflexively Cullen did as asked, unclipping the saber that he’d built with Master Stannard and dropping it into Master Bakarn’s hand.

“I don’t understand.”

“If you wish to go to the Corellia,” said Master Bakarn, clipping Cullen’s saber to his belt, “you may do so. But we cannot give them a padawan we know to be tainted by the Dark Side. It would be negligent and thoughtless for us to do so. As it is, we will lodge a complaint that Knight Matha would defy our attempts to see you healed in order to take over your training.”

“I… what?”

“Why would you do this?” asked Giselle, stepping up behind him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He is a hero to the Republic and a remarkable padawan.”

“He is a stain and a disgrace,” said Arketch. “I have seen the holos of his interrogation with Master Karr. The boy is indelibly stained and we should have released him when he was brought back. I was overruled – Syo thought the boy could be saved.” The Ithorian turned his back on them. “Were I you, Matha, I’d cut my losses. The boy will bring you nothing but pain and misery – and if they are wise, your council will heed our words, not your wishes.”

Two knights appeared at the door to the chamber.

“Leave quietly,” said Master Bakarn. “You own very few things of your own, Mr. Rutherford, but I will see to it that the armor the Queen gifted you is sent to Knight Matha’s ship. From there…. Well, I hope that the Force will be with you.”

The young master walked out, taking Cullen’s lightsaber with him.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” said Giselle. “But we will go to Corellia and then see what we shall see. I cannot believe that my Masters would deny you your place as my Padawan just because the Masters on Coruscant are being assholes.”

He gave her a rather wobbly smile.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Cullen,” said Giselle. “No matter what happens, I will not abandon you. The Jedi – we are better than this. I don’t know what has gotten into the masters here, but I will see you trained. And even if you can’t be knighted by the Order, you will still be Jedi.”

“Giselle…”

“No, they are wrong. And one day they will understand that,” she said, confident and strong. “Come.”

“Yes, Master Giselle.”

The trip to the spaceport seemed short, yet hopelessly eternal. Cullen resolutely did not look back, some part of him stubbornly refusing to engage with the horror and despair that the words _you are dismissed from the Jedi Order_ had generated. He had done nothing wrong. He’d merely found a master who had made him feel comfortable with himself for the first time since… ever.

Master Meredith had always made him feel broken – as though he wasn’t right and could never be enough in the battle with the Sith. The place that she’d operated from, a clean, white space that seemed completely empty of feeling, of empathy… it was a place that had given her great strength, but when sitting beside Giselle’s bright, green-gold warmth, Cullen couldn’t help but wonder if the power was worth the price.

The thought of it made him uncomfortable. Strength was a virtue of the _Sith_. Was it worth seeking that hollow emptiness if the only thing that came out of it was the sole goal of what their opponents sought?

They sat in the waiting area for their orbital shuttle – space travel to Coruscant was hectic and never ending. Cullen suspected that on any given day one could make an entire planet – or if not planet, at least a decent sized moon – out of all the ships that were parked in the multitude of orbital stations that circled the planet or, in some cases, sat in the same orbital path. The local tug and intra-system ship operators were always busy ferrying goods and people along the shipping lanes, keeping the city-planet supplied.

“Knight Matha!”

Cullen looked up at the familiar voice, startled.

“Lt. Pentaghast! What a pleasure to see you!”

“It is Captain now,” said Cassandra. “and my own squad to command, though I am still in the process of choosing my team. I am not certain if this is because Major Malcom felt I needed my own command or if he found my adherence to regulations disruptive.”

Giselle laughed. “Only you, Cassandra.”

“There is also the matter of Senator Iustinia,” said Cassandra. “But that is, perhaps, something for another time. It is good to see you both. I trust that your quest to gain Cullen as a padawan is going well.”

Cullen frowned and looked away.

“It has not been without it’s tribulations,” said Giselle. “We’re off to Corellia, though, and I don’t imagine we should have too many difficulties.”

“Indeed, I should hope not. Cullen is one of the better padawan’s I have encountered out of any of the Temples.”

“That’s no surprise to me,” said Giselle, her hand ruffling through his hair as though he were a child. He turned and gave her a faux scowl, feeling oddly charmed by the behavior. Master Stannard had not been one for touch and it surprised him how much the playfulness of the act comforted him. “Were it up to me, I’d knight him as it is – he’s faced far worse than any test the Councils could possibly devise. A senior padawan working at his level should be a knight-elect at least.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “I did wonder. It is not uncommon to see padawans working alone, which in many ways is as well for the Republic. The Sith have unleashed their apprentices to work wherever their lords cannot reach, and there is great need for Force users everywhere, and not just the front lines. But it seems odd to me that they are not knighted and given greater authority to do their jobs. It seems inefficient.”

Cullen bit his lip. He’d never really considered those who had progressed from initiate to padawan without being chosen by a master. Their skills were ranked, and they were sent on missions by the Council as befitted their skills, but they could not be recommended for knighthood until a suitable master felt that they could pass the trials. Padawan’s with masters tended to progress faster, as their masters were able to keep a much closer tab on their development.

Giselle shrugged. “It works differently on Corellia.”

“Of course. Your knights rarely leave the sector, and are often… difficult… when they do.”

“Ah,” said Giselle. “You would know.”

Cassandra laughed. “Regalyan is hardly an exemplar of your order. And he is not _always_ difficult.”

“Well, if you mean Roderick – I mean, Knight Asignon – he’s _always_ difficult.”

“That explains a great deal.” Cassandra’s communicator chimed and she looked down at it, scowling. “Unfortunate. It seems I must report to the Senate Tower earlier than anticipated. It has been a pleasure to soo you again, Knight Matha, Padawan Rutherford. I hope your trip to Corellia is fruitful.”

“Thank you,” said Cullen. Giselle nodded, smiling. He turned to her, raising a brow. “Why not tell her of the Temple’s decision to expel me from their ranks?”

“She would have marched over to the Temple and attempted to spank Master Arketch. Cassandra is quite a fan of yours.”

He flushed. “I rather like her, too.”

“Not too much, I hope,” said Giselle. “She’s married to Knight Regalyan.”

Cullen stared at her. “Married? To a Jedi?”

Giselle nodded. “I told you – we view the code differently on Corellia. I suppose I should not be so surprised by your Council’s response to our announcement. Some of them view us as little better than Sith, since we do not eschew attachments and find strength in our love and devotion to one another and to the Corellian Sector.”

“I didn’t realize it was so wide a divergence.”

Giselle cocked her head to the side. “You will see – it will make all the difference.”

-0-

Cullen supposed that it had made all of the difference, in that once the senior Council of the Corellian Jedi had gotten through with them, they’d _both_ been drummed out of the Jedi Order. They were fortunate, Cullen supposed, as they hadn’t also been declared rogue Force users to be hunted down by any Jedi within range, but they’d tried to confiscate Giselle’s lightsaber and ship, only to be confronted by the fact that she’d been using family resources instead of those belonging to the Temple in order to ensure that the Order would be able to do the greatest good.

“Matha-diin Communications,” said Cullen as they were unceremoniously ejected onto the slidewalk. “I hadn’t made the connection.”

“Why would you?” asked Giselle, looking rather disgruntled at having been reduced to a skin-tight shipsuit that she’d apparently had since she’d been a teenager. “All of us have trust funds that we can tap or not, regardless of whether we go into the business or not. I’ve used it to buy a ship I like and can maintain with a minimum of outside help – which they knew perfectly well, since I told them when I bought it – and have only ever used temple funds to stock the thing for missions.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” she turned to him, drawing her habitual cloak of calm around her. “You have done nothing to be sorry for, Cullen.   It is us – it’s the Jedi that have failed you. I said I wouldn’t abandon you, and I will not. I told you, even if they will not elevate you to knight, you are Jedi and I will see you trained as well as may be.”

“How are you going to do that?”

She cocked her head to one side and then stepped up to him, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

“Let’s go to the park,” Giselle said, suddenly cheerful. “I don’t know if you’ve been to Corellia before, but Axial park is a thing to see. We can stop at the zoo.”

“I’d rather see animals in their native habitats,” he objected as she pulled him on to the fast-moving track headed in the direction of the transport station.

“Corellia doesn’t have native habitat,” she told him, somewhat sad. “But it does care for the species that have been displaced. I assure you that while the zoo isn’t perfect, it is pretty amazing.”

“If you say so, master.”

She looked at him.

“Ex-Jedi or not, you’re still my master, master.”

“People are not going to take that the way you mean it, not when we’re dressed like this.”

Cullen shrugged. “Their lack of respect is their problem. Especially if they express it to me.”

Giselle shook her head before chuckling softly. “As long as we have lightsabers, we’ll be fine.”

“But I _don’t_ have a lightsaber.”

“I promise you, Cullen, we’re going to take care of that.”

Cullen shrugged, feeling oddly unconcerned. Once he would have worried it to death, twisting himself up with fear. Being Jedi was all he knew, all he’d ever wanted to be. He wasn’t sure if it was shock, or Giselle’s remarkable ability to induce a state of calm in those around her.

The trip to Axial park, with its green spaces and shops was short. The rocket trams that served as the planet’s public transportation system were a curious mix of high tech and quirky nostalgia for an age long past. Their design and decoration hearkened back to a world in which ships crossed oceans and not space, and steam powered machines, not antimatter. It was hard to get a good look at the details, plastered together as they were in the press of the crowd, but it was still enjoyable to see the thought and humor that had gone into the design.

None of the Corellians seemed to notice the care in the details, wrapped up in themselves and their everyday lives. Few even glanced at the floating holoboards that gave notice of the news, both local and galactic, and oddly, he felt a great comfort in that. He couldn’t say that he felt contentment from most of his fellow commuters, but at least they lacked the pervasive base of fear that gripped so many worlds outside of the Core.

Giselle led him through the tightly-packed crowd, exiting the tram at a station on the far south end of the district, and giving a sigh of perfect contentment. “Come along, my dear. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cullen followed her along the broad boulevards, with their colorful banners, and down odd little side-streets, until they reached a little shop with an odd variety of things in the window. _Questions and Curiosities_ was spelled out in faded gold lettering, the flecks and spaces gleaming in the sun. Giselle pushed the door open causing line of small bells, made of some mellow gold-brown _metal_ , to ring as they entered. Cullen stared at them, mouth agape.

He’d heard bells chime, of course. It was a popular sound-file for businesses across the galaxy. And he’d seen bells at a distance, on the one occasion that his Master had taken him to an orchestral performance as part of a mission. But these were made of real, beaten metal, sitting out in the open where anyone might see or touch them.

“Made of bronze, they are,” said a calm voice from the back of the shop. “From a world far from here.”

Cullen’s head snapped around. He’d heard voices like that, in the temple. Master Yela, who was generally reclusive, unless you were a youngling under the age of ten, spoke like that.   She belonged to the same species as the being who perched upon a stack of pillows, smoking something pleasantly fragrant from a water-pipe of intriguing design. The being was small, with skin the color of new-furled leaves on the trees in the Temple Gardens. Snow-white hair lay thick between large, triangular ears, that perked with vivid curiosity. Green eyes studied him, scalpel-sharp, as the small being took a long, burbling drag on the pipe.

“Master Yond.” Giselle made a little bow, knight to Master.

“Eh. Asked you not to use that form of address, I have,” said Yond, blowing a perfect ring of smoke. “Left the Order did I, to run this shop. No more a master am I, than the nautolan down the street.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Master. You could no more stop being a Jedi, than I could shut down a sun.”

“Shut down a sun you might, if more faith you had.” Yond punctuated the statement with dramatic swipes of his pipe.

Giselle turned and looked at Cullen. “See what I mean?”

The little being harrumphed. “Failure was I, as Jedi. Make them see I cannot. Blind to the will of the Force. Tired I did, of arguing. Better this is. Sell trinkets and wisdom.”

“And heirlooms and grey-market contraband,” said Giselle. “To those who, like you, are not on the Council’s good side.”

He chortled.

“Finally given up on you, have they? One too many strays? Boy from Alderaan, is he not? The one Celene made much of?” Yond took a long drag on his pipe. “Lucky you are, padawan. If Jedi you were not, one of her daughters you would have been awarded. House Panteer – filled with backstabbing rancors, it is.”

“Er. What?”

“You’re lucky you got away with a rather nice set of armor, Cullen. Queen Celene has a number of unmarried daughters.”

“What in the galaxy would I do with a wife?”

“Sons also has she!” cackled Yond. “Fill your bed better, would a husband?”

Cullen’s mouth snapped closed and he glared, an ephemeral spike of anger drifting through him at the thought of marrying some pampered Alderaanian prince, and not – _no_ , he would not think about the man who haunted his dreams and fantasies.

“You’re a terrible little troll,” he said, instead.

“Hmmmm,” the little creature puffed on his pipe. “Fiery, is this one.”

“Mmmm.” Giselle’s smile was unexpectedly bright. “Better than that subdued padawan I first met. His master was Meredith Stannard, out of Coruscant.”

“Void-spawned terentatek,” muttered Yond. “Ice-heart.”

“She was a good Jedi,” Cullen protested, almost by rote. It was strange, when he thought of it, how often he’d made that protest. Master Meredith had been cold and analytical to a fault. It had made her difficult to relate to, but profoundly good at her job.

“Perhaps.” Yond puffed some more. “Terrible being, though. Problem it is, with many Jedi. Good Jedi, forgetting to be good people. War with Sith, this does not help.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. Master Stannard _had_ eschewed such niceties as kindness or compassion, preferring the coldness of logic and a precisely defined ethical code that did not take individuals or emotions into account.

In his mind he could see the small fortress at Adaarani burning, because there had been two pure-blooded Sith in residence, and Force users outside of the Order’s control. Intellectually he knew that his memory was in some measure false. It had been the Sith and her son who had attacked, kidnapping the children in order to take them to Korriban for training, or so the final report by Master Karr had concluded, but even if the memory he had was false… He had lived with Master Stannard for seven years.

Cullen had no doubt that she _would_ have attacked first, if she’d thought of it. Shouldn’t that be at least as damning as the reality of Adaarani?

“Feh.” The little being sighed, jumping down to land on a shelf behind the counter that allowed him to serve them without using the force to float. “Lightsaber you need. Wear the armor the Queen has gifted you with, yes?”

Cullen nodded slowly. Without provisioning by the Temple, he would have to use it – although it _was_ excellent armor. The Queen had been kind enough to ensure that it had been refurbished and brought up to modern standards of protection.

“Then perhaps…” Yond knelt down, sliding open the display case and pulling out a tray of items hidden by the glittering knickknacks set out for perusal. Lightsaber hilts. Some ornate, some streamlined, but all of them radiating age and use, Light and Dark. The one that appealed to him the most was the simplest. A plain cylinder, wrapped in pale leather – the pure lines appealing in their simplicity.

His hand hovered above it and he recoiled, almost overwhelmed by the biting darkness of it.

“Is that… is that _human_ skin?” asked Giselle with audible revulsion.

“Hmmmm. No. Twi’lek. Look here,” he pointed at the subtle braiding of the sinewy strands, tracing the near-imperceptible variations in the leather. “Brother and sister, they were. Their blood used as sacrifice for the blade. Lightsaber of Darth Angustia.”

“Why haven’t you destroyed it?”

“Important piece of history.” He looked at Cullen. “Way to determine who is inured to the Dark Side, it is. Lesson, also. Temple teaches that to be Sith is to be hedonist, voluptuary. Easy it is to be fooled by Sith who do not seek ostentation. Passion, confined to body, it is not, nor to sensation.”

The blunt, three-clawed hand touched the most ornate and lovely of the hilts. “Belonged to Jedi Master Bettanai Shan, granddaughter of Bastila Shan and the Knight who came to be known as Revan. Great Jedi she was. Pure in purpose. Loved beauty above all things.”

“She was an artist,” said Giselle, letting her fingers hover reverently over the hilt. “The temple here has several of her works on display. “The Art History Museum has two sculptures and three of her paintings. I have no idea whether or not Coruscant has any.”

The little being shook his head. “Exiled she was, by them. Her love of art and beauty seen as corruption.”

“That’s insane,” said Cullen. The Light that seemed to flow from the hilt was a palpable warmth on his kin.

 _“There is no emotion, there is peace.”_ Yond shook his head. _“There is no passion, there is serenity.”_

“Why can’t there be both?” asked Cullen.

“That,” said Giselle, “is both the question and the curiosity.”

In the end, they left the shop with a lightsaber hilt that had last seen use during the last war with the Sith. The focusing crystal inside of it was intriguing – it created a blade that shone a clear, perfect white, with no suggestion of gold or blue, green or red. When Cullen sat in the room his new Master had bespoken them for the night, he’d held the shining cabochon up to the light and closed his eyes, listening to it sing.

It’s music in the Force felt ancient, disused; as though once it had been sung by thousands of voices, while now it had only a few, struggling to carry on the complex harmonies. He didn’t recognize the stone – not a surprise, since padawans were generally not allowed to go exploring through the vast vaults of crystal housed in the lower levels of the Temple.

“Having fun?” Giselle asked, leaning in the doorway.

“I’ve never seen a crystal like this,” he said. He didn’t mention that he’d seen similar blades before. The stone itself was dark, with shimmering, flickering colors dancing within like a galaxy of shifting stars.

“It looks much like opal, yet is something else, I think,” she remarked as he dropped it back into his new saber, having replaced and upgraded many of the components. He probed it lightly with the Force and found nothing clearly wrong. “Opals are too soft; they disintegrate after short term use.”

“Well,” he said. “It’s good or it isn’t.”

He thumbed the activator, sighing contentedly as the blade sprang into existence.

“It is perfect.” Giselle’s smile was a benediction. “You will hang it from your belt and wear it with pride, Cullen. No one can take it from you.”

“Won’t there be problems? We’re technically not Jedi.”

“Bah. To be Jedi is to follow the Code as well as one is able.” She stared down at him. “Do you propose that we cease to help people, or stop opposing the cruelty of the Empire?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then we remain Jedi.” She turned to look out the window. “They may take my place in the order from me, but they cannot remove my place in the Republic. You do realize that we are made Knights of the Republic when we are knighted by the order, yes?”

Cullen blinked at her.

“Yes… although I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You can be a Knight of the Republic without being a member of the Order, and I am going to make sure that you become one.” She turned back to him. “Assuming that it’s still what you want, of course.”

“Is that what I want? Of course it is!”

“Then that is what we will do.” She looked at him. “I cannot call you padawan – I think it holds far too much of things neither of us care to think of. But there is an older term, from before the Republic was formed. When a knight went into training, they would have a knight-master and they would become a Squire.”

“Squire Rutherford?” he asked. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Giselle laughed, soft and delighted. “And we shall be knights errant, seeking out and vanquishing evil on behalf of our government!”

“How can that possibly work?”

“I told you that I went to Alderaan as part of Senator Iustinia’s taskforce. She must have told you how concerned she was about what occurred on Adaarani, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You must understand that my involvement as your primary Healer was fortuitous – perhaps even the actual will of the Force. Senator Iustinia came to Alderaan because of the Empire’s invasion, in part to force the hand of the Jedi and the Republic Army both. I came as part of her staff, a bodyguard assigned publicly by the Corellian Temple for one of our Corellian Senators… and privately as a Jedi unaffiliated with the Coruscant Temple.” She held his eyes steadily. “We did not know that you would be on Alderaan.”

“Then why were you there?”

“Because _Havoc_ would be on Alderaan.” She sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “I tell you this, because Senator Iustinia has asked me to continue on with the investigation we started almost a year ago, and should I do so, it will be with you at my side. You have a right to know that there were questions raised during the trial of Lord Aquinea – questions that had nothing to do with her, or her obduracy, and everything to do with how she was captured.”

“She was located on Adaarani. Havoc Squad was dispatched when my Master called for help, to do something about the slaughter.”

“I know what Karr’s report said. I know what Jace Malcom submitted as an after action report – but none of it adds up. Adaarani is in Wild Space. What was your master doing there? Why was Havoc close enough to respond to a call for aid, when they should have been on the front lines?” She laced her fingers together, eyes dark and serious. “Why were you hidden away under Healer’s Seal and not allowed to directly testify?”

Cullen opened his mouth, then shut it, finding he had nothing to say.

“We did not know that you’d be on Alderaan, but the Senator already had someone embedded in Havoc. She informed us that you had arrived with Knight Shan and the other Knights from Coruscant. It was just happenstance – or the Force – that I was the only available Jedi Healer available when you were brought in.”

“You questioned me without reciting my rights as a Republic citizen,” he accused, but without heat.

She shook her head. “I’ve treated everything you said to me on Alderaan as though it is under the Healer’s Seal. I’ve told Dorotea nothing about what you told me.”

Her smile was wry. “Don’t think it hasn’t been a fair frustration, though – your memories entirely contradict everything that we were told by Karr or Malcom.”

“Which is more likely? That my master went mad and staged a Republic raid on innocent people? Or that a Sith Lord decided to do what she could to take what she wanted?”

“Cullen. I met your master. Oh, it was years ago, when I was just a padawan myself. But she was as brutal and unforgiving as any Sith. I would believe her the author of a massacre as easily as I believe she could have taken a young padawan and twisted him up so badly that he would hate himself for breathing.”

Cullen’s mind stopped, thoughts coming to a wobbling stillness, that shuddered and juddered with every breath he took.

“Master Stannard was an excellent Jedi,” he said, the sharp-edged words leaving his tongue bleeding. “She was _everything_ a _Jedi_ should _be!”_

Something inside him broke, a fragile control worn so thin that it shattered under the weight of Cullen’s silent rage. The force of it blew outward, a shockwave of power that splintered the furniture and cracked the transparisteel windows.

Giselle shielded herself, floating silently above the wreckage of the bed as the Dark, violent energy spewed forth in noisome waves. Cullen screamed, unable to hear himself think, or understand the words that burst from his throat like yellow-green pus from abscess left too long to rot.

The maelstrom gripped him; an emotional storm that grabbed him, pulling him down, down, down into depths that screamed madness in his ears. But through it all, Giselle floated, full of Light and stillness in the heart of the storm.

_There is a calm center at the heart of every tempest, padawan._

He couldn’t remember anyone saying that to him, but the words were clear – crisp and tart, like _ajara-_ fruit on a hot summer’s day.

Cullen took a desperate breath, willing himself to slowness, to stillness. He was the storm; he was the calm.

“Emotion, yet peace,” said Giselle as the storm abated. “Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.”

“What –” asked Cullen. “What is that?”

“A different version of the Code. One far more forgiving than what your Master taught you.” She set herself down, staring around the room with a critical eye.

“It’s a good thing my family owns the building,” she said. “Otherwise we’d never be allowed back.”

Aside from himself and his new Master, the only thing not reduced to splinters and dust was his new lightsaber.

Cullen stared at the devastation in horror. “What have I _done?”_

“Something that you needed to do.” Giselle looked him in the eyes. “Your master, by all accounts, was an exemplary Jedi. What she wasn’t, Cullen, was an exemplary Jedi _Master._ If she had been, it would have taken a lot more effort for me to ignite your anger.”

“I shouldn’t have this kind of anger,” he protested.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Giselle agreed. “But not because you don’t _feel_ it, but because you know how to _deal with it._ ”

“Master was a good master.”

“No,” said Giselle, staring him directly in the eyes. “She wasn’t. I don’t know precisely what happened on Adaarani, but I do know this – whatever it was, it involved a lot of people, people who are supposed to be the most incorruptible in the Galaxy. What I need to know is whether or not you think you can stand to find out. Those who seek truth very rarely encounter answers that they enjoy finding.”

Cullen stared at her, scoured hollow by the storm.

“It doesn’t matter if I like it or not,” he told her. “I want… no, I _need_ to know. Whatever it is. Whatever the cost.”

“And that,” Giselle said, “is what will make you a Knight of the Republic.”

-0-

They returned to Coruscant, heading to the Senate Tower almost immediately upon landing.

“I do not think we will find it so different from our work before,” said Giselle as their taxi entered a tight spiral, queued for landing at the taxi-pad just down the thoroughfare from the gleaming spires of the Senate Tower. “Your master was in much demand around the Galaxy, so you will likely be more comfortable than I with the scope and scale of what we will be doing.”

“Perhaps.” Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his armor. It was well fitted, but much heavier than the robes he had been accustomed to wearing. His lightsaber hung from the belt attachment, humming quietly in the back of his mind. Giselle, too, was in armor – a lighter affair made of modern synthetics – that gleamed in the late afternoon light.

“I can feel you worrying from here.”

“It’s what I do,” he said, flashing her a small, crooked smile. “Master Stannard’s job was to convince people to do things and investigate accusations of Dark Force use. My job was to make sure we were fed and had a place to stay. And watch for ambushes.”

“I imagine there were a fair few of those,” Giselle said as their vehicle came to a halt.

“Um. Yes. I suppose there were.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Master Stannard did have something of a habit of making more enemies than she did friends.”

Giselle touched his hand, a fleeting comfort before she exited the taxi. He followed, clearing the way from the small cleaning droid that swept in on a whirr, its sensors aglow looking for dirt and its many arms spinning. He smiled a bit when the tiny thing gave a disappointed murr and exited the taxi on the far side, tagging the attendant droid that the vehicle was ready to go.

“Shall we?” asked Giselle.

“To work, then?”

“I think you will not find it unpleasant, Cullen,” she said. “You will find at least a few familiar faces.”

Cullen studied the gleaming spires and graceful arches of the Tower as they approached. He’d been inside, of course – it wasn’t uncommon for Jedi to receive missions from the various polities represented there. People looked at the great senate tower and tended to think of the Dome, the grand chamber that held the Senate when it was in session. They didn’t consider the many, many levels of the building, that housed all of the senators’ offices and much of the governmental and military structure of the Republic.

They wound through the ever-present crowd, filled with politicians, supplicants, guards and aides, indistinguishable from the normal ebb and flow of bodies. Giselle took him down a side corridor, pausing before one of the many nondescript lifts that rose skyward and dove deep toward the bowels of the city-planet.

The door chimed, opening to reveal the bright smile and lithe form of Lady Josephine.

“Knight Matha! Oh, how delightful it is to see you! And Cullen!” He found himself swept into a light embrace, Josephine kissing the air beside each of his cheeks, while his face erupted in pink flames. “So wonderful to see you!”

Laughter, bright and musical like the chimes at Yond’s storefront, rang out behind her and Cullen flushed even more deeply to see a tall, rose-skinned twi’lek standing inside, holding her foot in the door to prevent it from closing.

“Oh, Josie,” she said with an odd lilt he couldn’t place. “You didn’t tell me that he was so _adorable._ ”

Josephine let him go, stepping back into the lift. “You didn’t ask, Leliana. And how could you not know? His face was plastered all over the news for weeks!”

“Senator Iustinia sent you, I take it?” Giselle asked, following Josephine inside.

“Oh, no,” said Leliana. “It was Lady Cassandra.”

“She prefers her military rank,” Josephine tutted as Cullen gathered his courage to step in.

“Lady Cassandra?” Cullen asked.

Josephine shot her companion an amused glare. “Please, let us begin with introductions. Knight Giselle, Padawan Rutherford –”

“Squire,” Leliana corrected her, flashing a charming set of dimples.

“—indeed?—Well, then, Squire Rutherford, I would like to make you acquainted with Leliana Rossignol, of the Strategic Information Service.”

“SIS?” the words burned bitterly in his mouth. He and Master Stannard had encountered them time and again, and rarely to the benefit of their mission.

“Is that a problem?” asked Leliana.

He stared at her. “If you’ve read my file – which you have, otherwise you would not know of my expulsion from the order – then you are aware that I’ve had few encounters with the SIS that can be considered good.”

“I see,” she drawled. “But you have never worked with me, no?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Ah. All will be well, then. I have faith that the Force has brought us together for a reason.”

The lift chimed, opening up on brightly lit corridors.

“If you will follow me,” said Josephine, leading them out. “Senator Iustinia has recently wrangled funding for a joint project between the Senate, the military, and the SIS. As you all may know, war brings out much of what is terrible in everyone. No one’s hands are clean, but the Senator would like to ensure that we, unlike the Empire, do not just blindly accept and dismiss such things as the cost of doing business in wartime.”

There were a lot of empty, somewhat dilapidated desks, most with computers that had probably been outdated when Cullen’s parents were children.

“It does not look like much.” Cassandra came out of a side room, wiping her fingers on a cloth that had seen better days. “And I grant you that the pay will not be exemplary. But our cause is just.”

Leliana stepped forward. “This unit will operate directly under Senate supervision, independent of the Army and the SIS, though we will be given access to their resources. Officially we are called the Strategic Office of Investigation.”

“I suggested the Seekers of Truth,” said Cassandra. “This suggestion did not even make it to the committee, though Senator Iustinia laughed.”

“Informally,” said Leliana, laughter fluting in her voice, “they are already calling us the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition?” Cullen shook his head. “How very odd.”

“So, how many of us are there?”

“For now? It is just the five of us.” Cassandra looked him over. “Good. You are looking much better than you were. More stable.”

“You were the one in Havoc’s camp?”

“She told you, then? It is good. We must have honesty among ourselves.” Cassandra waved them into a small conference room. “Our first task is the one that Senator Iustinia set a task force many months ago – we had not yet come to any firm conclusions, but we were set to look into things that had become most troubling.”

“Isn’t it a conflict of interest to involve Cullen?” asked Josephine.

“Ah. Yes.” She looked at him. “My condolences at the shortsightedness of your Order, Cullen. It is my assessment that you behaved in an exemplary manner on Alderaan. Regardless of other outcomes, you chose your life and those of your soldiers over anything so petty as revenge. It was the act of a devout Jedi.”

He flushed. “I didn’t choose much of anything.”

“We have seen the reports of a Sgt. Samson, who was part of the team pursuing the Sith you confronted.” Leliana stared at him, the cool blue of her eyes almost luminescent. “He said that you attempted to engage the Sith, only to speak with him, instead of fighting.”

“I recognized him,” said Cullen. “From Adaarani. I asked him to surrender.”

“Hmmmm.” Leliana’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful and assessing. “The sergeant was most uncomplimentary in his description of the events. Then again, the sergeant, like most of his men, was knocked unconscious by the Sith.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Cullen closed his eyes. “I had only made the acquaintance of a handful of Havoc – the team that I was immediately assigned to provide me cover support. We knew that there would be a lot of Sith. Darth Malgus has been unleashing groups of twenty or more. They’re usually not well trained, so it was deemed that any competent duelist should be able to take on groups of five to ten, as long as they had sufficient covering fire to distract them.”

“This, I remember. I did not like sending you, or any of the Jedi out with such orders,” said Cassandra. “We were told that the Temple had supplied Jedi support, but the strategy decided upon was reckless. With the support that my Regalyan was able to coerce out of the Corellian council, there was no need to be so careless with your life, or the lives of Havoc Squad.”

“Ah, yes,” said Leliana. “But we won, no?”

“The idea that victory brings forgiveness of all sins is one we are here to combat, Leliana.”

“You are right, of course,” said Leliana. “And the plan was moot to begin with – after all, Knight Shan outran her guard force, did she not? She recklessly endangered her life and the mission in order to spare the life of Major Malcom.”

Josephine gave a fluttering little sigh.

“It is not some holodrama,” snapped Cassandra. “Half of the men she should have been with died because of her desertion. I do not know if Knight Shan is even aware that her dereliction cost them their lives.”

“She did defeat Darth Malgus.” Giselle’s voice was soft.

“So the stories say,” said Cassandra. “The surviving witnesses are Jace Malcom and Satele Shan. No one else was close by.”

“Surely you’re not accusing them of lying?” asked Cullen.

Cassandra gave a frustrated huff, not quite her distinctive, disgusted snort, but close to it. “No, I do not think they lie – but it is frustrating that no one speaks of it. No attempt was made to even try and retrieve Malgus’ body, or even ensure his death. Yet I have heard persistent rumors that it is the fault of the padawan one ridge over, who was hit with Force lightning and stunned, that Malgus escaped.”

Josephine sighed.

“You are right,” said Leliana. “The rumors are very specific and quite pointed. And they do not stem only from the miscreant in Havoc Squad. I have not been able to pinpoint the source, although it has only been in the last weeks that they have begun to have real prominence.”

Giselle made a small, noncommittal noise and Cullen rubbed his neck.

“It will not be long before it becomes known that one of the heroes of Alderaan has left the Order,” said Giselle, thoughtful. “And that it isn’t Satele Shan.”

“You think it deliberate, then?”

Giselle shrugged. “It may simply be happenstance – there are many troops that have returned from Alderaan in the past weeks, just as Cullen and I were freed to come speak to the Jedi Council about my desire to take him as a Padawan.”

“Perhaps we should not attribute to malice, what may instead be coincidence,” suggested Josephine.

“There is no such thing as coincidence,” chorused Cullen, Giselle, and to his surprise, Cassandra and Leliana.

“Within the Force, there is very little left to chance,” said Giselle.

“Circumstance, then,” said Josephine.

“Perhaps. What is concerning is that it may have such relevance to our investigations.” Cassandra looked at Cullen. “There have been a number of military actions taken in the past two years, where the Jedi have called for help in order to ‘prevent’ some kind of atrocity or war crime. You were involved with one of the most recent – Adaarani. But you are the first to file a report that contradicts the reports submitted by the order and by the military unit involved in the action. In each case, the timing of the military intervention has been suspicious.”

Cullen found his hand dropping, almost carelessly, to his lightsaber as the other spread flat against the surface of the table they were sitting at.

“You think that there’s something wrong – something off about it.”

“I think that there may be forces working within the Jedi Order and the Army to attack perceived threats – and that the reality of those perceived threats is not always what is being reported to the Senate.” Cassandra’s pale eyes met his, deadly serious. “I have been with Havoc Squad – most of the soldiers there are good men and women. But there are those, like Sgt. Samson, who set my teeth on edge. Havoc wasn’t the only group on Adaarani, just the most prominent.”

“This is our first case?” asked Giselle. “It will be difficult. Collecting evidence that will stand up in a court of law? It may be impossible.”

Cassandra nodded. “I know. But we cannot just let it go. If the Republic – if the Jedi – are participating in massacres like the one on Adaarani, and then blaming it on the Empire? It must end. One way, or another.”

Cullen felt the breath still in his chest, hot and sharp. His anger swelled, needle-clawed and restless, less a raging storm than a fell beast curling at his heels. He felt Giselle’s hand, cool and comforting, brush his own. It wasn’t a thing that should be a question – it wasn’t something that should even be a possibility. Cullen had spent the whole of his life among the Jedi, campaigning for peace while being at war.

“If they are doing such things,” he said firmly, “then we will find a way to end it.”

Cassandra gave him a sharp nod. “You cannot work directly on the events of Adaarani; it would be considered a conflict of interest. But the results that the rest of us may find? Those will be available to you, without question.

“Do you suggest splitting us up?” asked Giselle. “I have already promised Cullen that I would not abandon him, and that I would see him to Knighthood.”

“That, as it happens, is a fairly easy problem to deal with,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Dorotea Iustinia stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. “You only need a Senator, or Order, to sponsor him, and a vote of the relevant committee. As it turns out, the Senate Committee for the Regulation of Force Users was overjoyed to hear of a trained Force user who was interested in serving the Republic directly, instead of working through the Jedi. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s a publicly acclaimed war hero. Usually the only thing they have to talk about is what to order for lunch, since they normally just sign off on whatever the Temples send them.”

Cassandra scrambled to her feet. “Senator! We were not expecting you today.”

“I’ve told you time and again to call me Dorotea,” said the Senator, pushing away from the door. “Especially as we will be working closely together. The honorifics just get in the way.”

“I could never –”

“It’s a simple enough name. Repeat after me: Dor-oh-tay-ah.” Dorotea looked amused.

“It lacks the proper respect,” Cassandra protested weakly.

“Oh, Cassandra,” said Leliana. “You may as well concede gracefully, no? It is not a star system to sacrifice a fleet for.”

“No, indeed,” said Josephine. “Are we then to understand that we should be referring to Cullen as _Sir_ Cullen?”

“That depends on whether he prefers Sir Cullen or Sir Rutherford, I expect.” Dorotea pulled a chair away from the table and spun it, so she could sit with her arms folded over the back. “I’m sorry that there’s no ceremony for it. There should be one.”

“A celebration, perhaps?” asked Leliana, her eyes narrowing. “It would be good for morale – and send a message to those that we are not listening to the scurrilous rumors.”

“Oh – no,” said Cullen. “That’s not really necessary.”

“A celebration!” said Josephine at the same time. “It is perfect! Cassandra, do you think it viable to put upon the Inquisition’s budget? I know just who to invite.”

“Really,” Cullen protested. “It isn’t necessary.”

“Oh,” said Leliana, “but it _is_.”

Dorotea rested her chin on her hand. “You’ll want to get the employment contracts signed first. The press will check. Fortunately, the grant of the title ‘Knight’ went through early this morning. Senator Plethan had an Arms Committee meeting that was scheduled to last all day. It will look like you were just waiting on the paperwork.”

“That may work,” mused Josephine. “It will not take much digging for the press to find that Cassandra and I spent a good deal of time with Cullen while we were all on Alderaan. It can be played as though we enticed them to work with us – making their departures from the Order look less like expulsion.”

“No,” said Giselle. “The Temples deserve whatever backlash it creates, that they would expel a Padawan and a Knight for wanting to work together.”

“I don’t want to create a problem –” Cullen tried again.

“Hush,” said Leliana. “It is no problem, not for us, anyway. It is a lure, to get the media involved in exposing what has been going on, as much as the fact you deserve a party. It is a grand thing, to serve the Republic as one of its Knights. A reminder to people that even those who are not Jedi can serve in such a capacity. I have seen the numbers – there are many initiates and Padawans, even Knights, who leave the Order. It is better that they see that they may still pursue the course they are raised to follow, is it not?”

Cullen winced.

“And so – public party, someplace where the word will get out easily.” Leliana’s fingers tapped her lips. “We need a mix – soldiers, spacers, SIS…”

“Jedi.” Cassandra leaned forward resting her elbows on the table. “Regalyan has always said that for an illicit night out, when he is here, they dress in civvies and go down to the one in the Galactic Market… What is it called?”

“The Dealer’s Den?” said Cullen, finally giving in to the inevitable. “I’ve never been. My previous master wasn’t one to allow me illicit time of any sort.”

“No illicit time, hmm?” said Leliana. “How… virtuous.”

Cullen flushed, turning his eyes away. The SIS agent laughed, not entirely kindly.

“Leliana,” Josephine reprimanded.

“It’s okay,” said Cullen.

“It is not –”

“No, really, it’s okay,” Cullen repeated. “It’s been brought to my attention that my master may have been… overly strict, even for a Master of the Coruscant Temple.”

Dorotea’s eyebrows went up. “Have you ever been to a cantina?”

“Only with my master, and only ever on assignment.”

“Then the Dealer’s Den it is!” the Senator said cheerfully. “It’ll be fun!”

“You’re coming?” said Josephine, looking surprised. “Think of the scandal!”

“What scandal? It’s not like we’ll be soliciting prostitutes or making spice deals.” Dorotea grinned. “I’ll just be a woman celebrating with friends.”

“You wish to attract the press,” said Cassandra flatly. “It would be simpler – and safer – to give out a thought-out press release.”

“Would it?” asked Giselle. “I don’t much care for using my colleague in this way, but I can see the use of showing the two of us as people, instead of mysterious Jedi.”

Cullen was surprised by the derisive hand gesture she made when she said “mysterious.”

“There is little that brings a being down to earth the way a round of drinks can,” Leliana agreed.

The day flew by, their plans for investigation making way for Josephine’s ruthlessly efficient organizational skills being brought to the fore of party planning. When Cullen and Giselle left to find the barrack they’d been temporarily assigned by Cassandra, he had to admit a growing sense that if Josephine were the one in charge of the war, the Sith would have been invited to an excruciatingly civilized afternoon tea, and then gone home with an armful of trade agreements and confusingly sore asscheeks.

Cullen collapsed almost as soon as he reached his bed, remembering vaguely to set his chrono to wake him a few hours before the planned party. It turned out that he needn’t have worried – not when he woke to find Leliana poking curiously through his bags.

“I would ask how you got in,” said Cullen, rolling onto his back and shutting the alarm off with the Force – a frivolous use that would have gotten him a few hours of silent meditation from Meredith – “but I suspect that ‘Republic SIS’ would explain it all.”

“There are spies who cannot slice door codes, yes? The galaxy is large, thus there must be one, somewhere,” said Leliana. “But I do not imagine that they survive very long. Or get much information.”

“Why are you here?”

She poked the pack she was looking in. “You have no clothes!”

“What?”

“It is a tragedy! Such a beautiful young man, and you have only these boring, shapeless things.” Her lekku twitched in startling disapproval. “I come bearing your hiring bonus, and also to do something about your wardrobe. It is a travesty.”

“Thank you… I think?”

“You may keep the boots,” she said magnanimously, flashing dimples he suspected she could use to lethal effect. “There is no quarrel to be had with boots that come up over your knee, and mold so nicely to your legs. But the rest of this? Bah!”

He found himself hauled to his feet, Leliana being much stronger than her lithe frame would suggest. Cullen knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by it, twi’lek’s were a favored slave race of the Hutts and Empire both in no small part because of the physical strength and endurance hidden in often fragile-seeming forms.

“You do know I’m not a doll, right?”

“Today, you are! You will stand around and look pretty, and I will be the envy of all the boys and girls on the playground.”

“Playground?” He followed her along willingly enough, as he doubted that he had much choice.

“The world – the galaxy…” Leliana’s hands fluttered, expressive and deceptive. Cullen had little doubt that Leliana controlled her body language down to the minutest detail. “It is all a grand game, for the highest stakes.”

He stopped dead. “It’s not a game.”

“Is it not?” she asked, turning to look him in the eye. “There are winners and losers, Sir Cullen. Strategy, and tactics, and outthinking your opponents.”

“Is that how they teach you to think in the SIS?”

“No,” she said softly, with a soft little smile. “It is how I was taught to think by those who owned me, and confirmed by the ones who freed me. One must have distance, if one is to survive and protect what one holds dear. To do otherwise is to die – and take everyone down with you.”

Cullen swallowed hard.

“But right now, it is not important. Now is for shopping! The Cantina is in the Galactic Market, and we will find you something more appropriate than mud colored robes and threadbare shirts.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asked philosophically.

“While you are trying on clothes? Perhaps.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “But when we are done, you will not know yourself anymore.”

That was a strangely buoying thought. Cullen had been something well defined, that packed into neat little boxes for all of his life. He’d been a Jedi Initiate, playing and learning in the crèche. He’d been a Jedi Padawan, both with a Master and without. He’d become an exile from the Order he’d measured his entire existence by. He needed to learn who he was without the Jedi, even if he chose to continue living within the Code.

As it was he barely recognized the man in the mirror when he wore the antique armor he’d been gifted.

New clothes that hadn’t been issued to him by the Jedi was probably one of the easiest first steps to take to learn who he was and what he strove to become.

To Cullen’s surprise, he found shopping with Leliana fun, which he hadn’t expected at all. The twi’lek was upbeat, with a razor wit that could gut a man when he wasn’t looking leave him thanking her for spilling his intestines onto the floor. Cullen had never realized how much he might enjoy that, or the sometimes macabre and calculating humor that slipped out as she had him parade outfit after outfit for her.

“Don’t you think this is a little tight?” he asked, modeling a pair of synth-leather leggings that left no doubt about the length or shape of his cock.

“If you’re not eating carbon and shitting diamonds, it’s still a little too loose,” she told him. “You should order a dozen pairs.”

“Leliana!”

“You’ll find that with a little modification, they’ll deflect blaster bolts,” she told him. “And not just by distracting your opponent with your very fine derrière.”

Cullen ended up with six, walking out of the shop wearing one set and the only boots he owned that she approved of. When they walked into the cantina, he felt simultaneously ridiculous and comfortable. He looked like a spacer, not a Jedi, in well-fitted synth-leather, a calf-length duster, and a weapons-belt that held twin blasters and a hold-out spot at the small of his back for his lightsaber. His range of movement was perfect, without the binding layers of Jedi robes to hamper him.

It was incredibly freeing.

The rest of the _Inquisition_ had already gathered, an unexpectedly rowdy crowd, with Dorotea sitting on a table, laughing at a Jedi dressed in green leathers. Josephine sat, posture demure, even though the sheer gold halter-dress revealed more than it concealed with every other breath she took. Cassandra was on the dancefloor with Giselle, revealing a sense of rhythm that – according to Leliana’s murmur – completely made up for an inability to carry a tune in a cargo hold.

“Cullen!” called Josephine, waving him over, and making him blush with flashes of smooth bronze skin.

“Cullen! Welcome!”

“Congratulations!” called the Jedi, raising a glass. He saw Cassandra sneak up and steal the drink, while the man’s arms wrapped around her waist. The kiss that followed left Cullen in no doubt that the Jedi had to be her husband Regalyan.

It was strange as he approached the table, accepting a glass of Josephine’s red stuff, how much it felt like coming home.


	6. Dorian: Dromund Kaas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes,” said Retrost, masked as he so often was. “What kind of Sith would behave in such a way?”
> 
> “One who would see the Empire grow and thrive.” Dorian stood at ease, letting his gaze move to the smooth, full-face mask that hid Retrost’s features. “For some reason, I find putting love of the Empire into people far more useful than fear of it. The Republic bungled their handling – rampant crime, open slaver raids on their populations – why shouldn’t the Empire offer them protection and respite? We’re saviors on both of those worlds, and I bathed in the blood of enough pirates and freelance slavers that even you should be pleased, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

“Felix, darling, it is time to get up.”

Dorian watched with some amusement as his husband rolled over with an annoyed grunt, pulling a pillow over his head.

“How can you be awake so blasted early?”

He sat down on the bed, the weight of his armor causing an exaggerated dip that tilted Felix’s body toward him. “Years ago, Darth Malgus warned me that there’s a dearth of comfortable beds on the front lines, and premium on creature comforts. Slow mornings and lazy blow jobs are a delightful luxury I rarely get to indulge in, so I’ve trained myself simply to get up.”

Felix pulled his head out from under the pillow, glaring up at him. “Well, I’m not a blasted war hero, Dorian, I can sleep if I like.”

Dorian leaned over, bracketing his husband’s body with armored arms and leaning in for a kiss. Felix sighed into his mouth with easy surrender, yielding sweetly to Dorian’s greater power. Felix was an unexpected balm to his spirit; the son of Gereon Alexius, Darth Tempus, Felix was a feisty little scholar who had been kept far from the war by his father.

Dorian pulled back, smiling as Felix followed him up, trailing pale, clever fingers up the matte-black _beskargam_ that had long since become Dorian’s accustomed daily wear.

“You could take this off and join me,” Felix husked, stealing another kiss.

“We’re due to meet your father and my uncle in an hour, love.” Dorian cupped a gauntleted hand around the nape of Felix’s neck, enjoying the heated shiver and lust-darkened eyes the move provoked. He pulled Felix in, fucking his mouth with his tongue as a taunt and a promise. “And you like it when I’m in armor.”

“Bastard,” Felix panted against his mouth, want and yearning sparking hot in eyes of molten gold.

“Guilty as charged.” Dorian kissed him again before resting their foreheads together. “I’ve already run you a bath, with the Zeltronian bath crystals you like. Krem’s set out your robes, _cyare._ ”

“I can’t believe you have a Mandalorian Sith as your body servant.”

Dorian tightened his grip on the back of Felix’s neck. “Krem is neither Sith nor a servant, Felix. We will both thank you to remember that.”

Felix hissed a little at the pinching reminder.

“Yes, Dorian. I’m sorry.”

Dorian released him and rose. “Felix – I know that it’s strange for you, that my household has no slaves and few servants. But please remember that the _Kad-an_ are family to me, every bit as much as Lucian, Calpurnia, and the children.”

Felix scowled at him. “They’re paid bodyguards, Dorian.”

“Who have fought with me through four years of war, keeping me alive, no matter how difficult the task I’ve been assigned. We’ve shed more than enough blood together to be _brolis’iv-karza._ We are _aliit._ ”

“They’ll turn on you,” was all that Felix said, tossing bedding aside to reveal the lithe, pale body that had enthralled Dorian from the first moment he’d seen it frumpily encased in badly cut, but expensive silks. “You’ll regret giving them so much power over you.”

“Funny,” said Dorian. “That’s what they keep saying about you. I’m told these little spats are what keeps family interesting.”

“Idiot,” Felix called, heading into the absurdly sumptuous ’fresher.

“Well, that at least is something we can agree on,” said Krem from the doorway, his pale gold eyes gleaming with mild dislike. “ _Darjetii’vod_ is an idiot.”

“In his defense, he’s generally not xenophobic and is usually very interested in other people and cultures.”

“He just thinks you let the hired help make too many of your decisions.” Krem shook his head. “I’ve no idea how you can stand being with such a soft thing, Dorian.”

“Soft thing? What, are you Trandoshan now?”

“Yes, Dorian, I’ve gained a foot in height and turned into a giant bipedal lizard, hadn’t you noticed?” Krem deadpanned. “Your uncle wanted you to know that Malgus and Angral have decided to crash the party this morning. He wanted to give you a chance to re-think your _beskargam,_ in favor of more formal Sith armor.”

Dorian crossed his arms, scowling in irritation. The armor he wore was a gift from his _aliit,_ both as part of a joke and an open invitation. The Iron Bull had long since listed Dorian as a member of his clan, but it was Dorian’s own actions – wearing the armor, speaking the language – that he indicated his own openness to the claim. He knew it made Lucian uncomfortable, for all that his uncle kept the _Kad-an_ paid and supplied. They served as bodyguards for Dorian, provided security for Lucian’s ever-growing brood of children, and kept Qarinus safe. Bull’s clan served as the most trusted of family retainers – but they were still mercenaries, bound by their code of honor to owe their ultimate fealty to the Mandalore, chief of all the Mandalorian clans.

Dorian was a Lord of the Sith, officially achieving that rank after the debacle that had been Alderaan. He served the Empire and the Dark Council. His loyalty to the Empire should never be placed in doubt. Dorian hadn’t offered fealty to the Mandalore and never would. Neither would he deny his ties to his _aliit._

Dorian sighed. “I probably should re-think it, but I’m not going to. What they see is what they get, and if they think my service to the Empire is compromised, they’re welcome to confront me about it.”

“Dorian,” Krem chided. “We all know you for what you are. You don’t have to put yourself in danger _here_.”

Here being the estate granted his mother upon _her_ elevation to Darth by the Dark Council decades ago. Here being the place his uncle lived, raising the children they’d rescued from the Jedi, and the sister that Dorian wasn’t allowed to claim. Here being the only place he could call home.

Dorian’s lips quirked to the side. “Darling Krem-puff, if I’m not willing to defend myself in my own home, in the home of my clan – how can I claim to do so anywhere else?”

Krem shook his head, rubbing his mouth to hide a smile. “Asshole.”

“You know it. How’s the team doing?”

“Stitches has finished the last of the education modules,” Krem told him. “He needs leave to go to Dromund Kaas and take the licensing exams at the Citadel. Then you’ll be able to call him ‘Doc’ instead of Stitches.”

“Do you think he’ll want that?”

“What, and be indistinguishable from the Imperial doctors? Fuck no. He’ll just pull out his bright, shiny degree out and bash them with it.” Krem grinned. “Skinner’s got a new girlfriend, a little twi’lek girl from fucking Thedas of all places – kid calls herself Dalish.”

“Girlfriend? I thought the new girl was her little sister or something.”

“Dorian, your Imperial is showing.”

“Ah. Right.” Dorian blushed. “It’s the little moments of xenophobia that get you – just because they’re both twi’leks doesn’t mean they’re related. Although you must admit, they’ve similar coloring and facial structure.”

“They really, really don’t,” Krem reproved. “And… I think they’re likely to come talk to you.”

Dorian frowned and Krem wiggled his fingers a little. Force user.

“Ah, well, is Bull sorting Dalish into our motley little band?” Dorian asked, nodding his understanding.

“He’d better, unless he’d rather be a steer than a bull,” said Krem. “Skinner is quick with her knives.”

“That she is, _vod._ ” Dorian crossed the threshold, and Krem followed. Grim grunted at them as they passed, keeping his place guarding Dorian’s sleep-chambers. Felix was more than capable of dressing himself and making his way down to the dining room, whether or not he chose to wear the armored robes his _aliit_ had provided for him.

“So, breakfast with two of the most powerful Sith in the Empire, delightful.”

“Three – Baras is here as well, with his attack dog,” said Krem. He lowered his voice. “We’ve been looking, but we haven’t found much on Retrost. It’s suspicious itself, but not enough to report to Imperial Intelligence. The rules about taking the Trials at Korriban don’t go back long enough to cover Retrost’s apprenticeship – and his master is long dead, which isn’t exactly unusual. Bull’s going to see if he can’t pull some threads in the Republic.”

“Yes, do,” Dorian slowed his gait as they turned down the next hall. “If there’s anything he needs.”

Krem nodded, peeling away as Dorian approached their destination.

Dorian hummed a sprightly tune, stepping through the archway that lead into the small receiving room like he owned it – which, in fairness to him, he _did_ – letting the eyes of all assembled fall upon him and his workday attire of unadorned Mandalorian steel.

He saw Baras’ lip curl in distaste, and offered him a sunny smile in response. “Good morning, gentlebeings.”

“Good morning, Dorian,” said Calpurnia, daggers and laughter dancing in her amethyst eyes. “No Felix?”

“He’s currently luxuriating in the bath, as he is prone to do after returning from assignment with the Reclamation Service,” he told her cheerfully. “I wasn’t aware that we were expecting extra guests this morning, otherwise I might’ve awakened him earlier. Still, he quite deserves his rest, he only returned home last night.”

“To a warm reception, I have little doubt,” said Gereon, golden eyes glinting wickedly. “Felix was gone some months, after all – and you’ve been away at the front for some time.”

Dorian took his seat on a lightly padded bench designed for someone in heavy armor. “There was a certain celebratory nature to our reunion, yes.”

“In which case, I imagine he’ll be at it for a while. Two vigorous young men like yourselves – no doubt he has a few pleasant aches to soak away.”

Krem coughed lightly behind him, covering a laugh.

“No doubt,” said Darth Angral. “But we are not here to discuss your marital affairs.”

“You’re not?” Dorian met Darth Angral’s burning, red-gold gaze placidly. Angral was a middle-aged human male, so filled with Dark energy it almost surprised Dorian that he could see the sandy-blond figure instead of a blot of infinite shadow. He knew that he should probably fear the man, but Dorian was on leave, and in his own home. “And here I assumed that everyone wanted to know about my reunion Felix. After all, we married this time last year, and we’ve barely seen one another.”

Calpurnia laughed. “Dorian, you never change.”

“Of course not, my lord. If I were to change, where _would_ you get your entertainment?”

Calpurnia appeared to consider that, before sliding her eyes to Lucian. “Oh, I’m sure I’d think of something.”

Lucian coughed. “Dorian, please. I know it’s unexpected, but…”

“Of course.” Dorian stood, bowing. “My lords, I do apologize for the frivolity. How may I be of service?”

“Better, my boy,” said Baras. “Much better. You would be wise to recognize your place.”

“My place is on the front lines,” said Dorian.

“You have been a great asset,” said Malgus, voice echoing from the bionic respirator that covered his mouth and throat. Dorian nodded to him, acknowledging what was only fact. It had been Dorian and his men who had eventually pulled Malgus and what remained of his people off of Alderaan. Stitches had been the one to stabilize Malgus. The field medic’s heroic efforts to treat injuries – injuries that had been inexpertly patched by Force use in and left too long for proper healing – had ensured that the Empire’s favorite hero would survive. “Your work on Pel’cakt and Dentiri has been exemplary.”

“If somewhat lacking in the show of power,” muttered Angral. Dorian ignored him. Blood was the only coin that Angral accepted wholeheartedly. He had no use for lives, which Dorian found appalling. The bitter rivalry between Angral and Malgus didn’t help, since Dorian was widely viewed as one of Malgus’ pets, despite years of independent military successes.

“Lord Dorian has done a fine job bringing those worlds into the Empire,” said Baras, _tsking_ lightly. “His record for taking worlds and _holding_ them is what my master, Darth Vengean, finds most useful, and why we are all here today.”

Angral shot Baras a look that would have melted steel. “Pavus is no one – nothing. Had he followed the usual rules of Apprenticeship, he would have died at the Academy. No _true_ Sith would conquer worlds without putting the fear of the Empire into what citizens survived.”

“Yes,” said Retrost, masked as he so often was. “What kind of Sith would behave in such a way?”

“One who would see the Empire grow and thrive.” Dorian stood at ease, letting his gaze move to the smooth, full-face mask that hid Retrost’s features. “For some reason, I find putting love of the Empire into people far more useful than fear of it. The Republic _bungled_ their handling – rampant crime, open slaver raids on their populations – why shouldn’t the Empire offer them protection and respite? We’re saviors on both of those worlds, and I bathed in the blood of enough pirates and freelance slavers that even you should be pleased, my lord.”

Retrost hissed. “They should fear us!”

“There aren’t many in that sector of space that don’t piss their pants at the mention of Dorian _Thalrassian_.” Krem rebuked, having come up to stand at Dorian’s left shoulder.

“Enough,” said Lucian. “I will thank all of you to respect the sanctity of this home – including you, Dorian. There is no need to provoke your superiors.”

“Hear, hear,” said Angral.

“And you have no need to push _him_. My nephew had chosen a difficult path of Service to the Empire, and I will not see _you_ denigrate _him_ either. He is a hero who has saved many Imperial lives and won us many battles, and he deserves your respect as much as you deserve his.”

Angral sneered, only to be shoved across the room as Gereon stood, fist rising slowly. Angral rose from the floor, hovering as ruby-dark energy encircled his throat.

“Darth Tempus,” murmured Malgus.

“It’s nice to know that someone remembers who I am,” said Gereon. “You are out of line, Angral. You will _not_ disrespect my son-in-law, or I will hear of it, _and act._ ”

Darth Angral dropped to the floor.

For a moment there was silence, as everyone remembered that Darth Tempus was second to Darth Dirigent, who had recently ascended to the Dark Council as the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge.

“Well!” said Dorian, breaking the moment. “That was bracing, wasn’t it? Nothing like a bit of adrenalin to get you going in the morning.”

Angral sat up, shooting him a look of pure venom.

“Dorian,” said Malgus as Angral stood. “As Baras said, you’ve proven yourself good at holding worlds once they’ve been taken. In the recent conquest of S’keth, it has been suggested that it would be wise to appoint a governor for the world and Commander for further conquest in that sector that has a proven history of taking and _keeping_ worlds.”

“And you, my boy, are the most talented among us at achieving this kind of goal,” said Baras, with cheerful venom. “Congratulations, my boy, on your elevation to Darth. You have been named Teizibe.”

_Still not your boy_ , Dorian thought, allowing his lips to curve in a triumphant smile he didn’t actually feel. Angral sneered at him.

“We’re here to discuss both your governorship and the further conquests the Empire would see made in that sector.”

“Of course you are,” said Dorian, turning as he heard light footsteps in the hall. Felix swept in, resplendent and visibly uncomfortable in the armored robes that Krem had laid out for him.

“Sorry, I’m… oh, I apologize my lords, I didn’t realize that you were here,” said Felix.

“We’ve merely come to congratulate your husband on his good fortune, Lord Felix.” Baras smiled, slick and glistening, as Retrost grunted.

“It seems I’m to be given a new assignment,” said Dorian, sweeping a hand out to pull Felix in. He could feel Malgus smirking behind his mask, and Baras raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile. Angral, who’d finally stood, continued to glare.

“You should be grateful you get so much attention from the Council, _Thalrassian_. There are dozens of acolytes who likely could take your place.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Felix said tartly, staring down Angral with sparking eyes. “Dorian is a remarkable Sith.”

Angral shot a glance at Gereon, who simply smiled.

“Darth Vengean agrees, little one,” said Baras, causing Felix to stiffen. His husband shot Vengean’s second a look of intense dislike, before assuming a more neutral mien. Felix had apprenticed to his father, and while his Trials had not been easy, they had not been riddled with the useless brutality that many lords like Baras favored. It caused Felix no end of frustration, as many Sith – including most of their visitors, assumed Felix to be far less powerful and capable than he was.

Dorian gripped his hand in reassurance. The warrior who forgot the complexity of Force use that scholars like Felix, who assessed and excavated ancient, uncharted tombs, were capable of were beings that deserved what they’d get. Felix was more than capable of taking out a battalion from a mile away, but far preferred the dust and vicious traps his work with the Imperial Reclamation Service provided him.

“Dorian will be taking over as governor of S’keth, and commander of Imperial Battle Group _Stormtide_ ,” said Gereon. Felix frowned at his father, brow wrinkling.

“Isn’t S’keth home to that…”

“Ancient Sith outpost you’ve been wanting to explore?” Gereon gave an honest grin. “Indeed it is. How oddly convenient that the Chief of Operations for that project is also married to the new planetary governor, Darth Teizibe.”

“Teizibe?” asked Felix. “Justice?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Dorian. “I didn’t choose it.”

Lucian laughed. “At least it’s not as incongruous as Darth Lux.”

Angral snorted, his rage fading somewhat.

“And who is Darth Lux?” asked Retrost.

“It’s the title of whomever is currently the head of Light Side Studies in… what, the Sphere of Mysteries?” Felix smiled. “Or possibly Ancient Knowledge.”

“It changes from time to time,” said Gereon with a comfortable nod. “The position is unfilled at the moment – we’ve been having a small issue with Revanite resurgence, which is to be expected in times of war. We have to be judicious in choosing Lux – it’s not every Sith who can flirt with the Light without falling into that particular heresy.”

Dorian felt Krem stiffen at his shoulder, but didn’t look back to him. Moments later the thunder of a dozen feet rolled through the corridor.

“Dor’an!” a small voice all but shrieked as a small, red-skinned girl launched herself at him, the Force rippling as she used it to propel herself into his arms.

“Ow!” she said, impacting his chest plate with a rather resounding thud. She attached herself like a limpet, wrapping slender arms around his neck and smacking a kiss somewhere between his cheek and his ear.

“Saaraij, what have we said about using Force Assists in the house?” said Calpurnia, rising from her seat as Dorian waved her off. He wrapped his own arms around the small figure to give her support, though he suspected he could have done aerial lightsaber forms without her falling off. He’d never been one to check children’s milestones, but he was fairly certain that Saaraij’s Force sensitivity was off the charts.

“Not to.” she said, scowling over his shoulder at Felix. “ _My Dor’an_.”

“I believe we had this discussion. You have to share him.” Felix’s laughter caused her to scowl harder.

“Mine,” she grumped, shoving her sandy-blond head into the crook of Dorian’s neck and pouting.

“Saaraij,” sighed another voice from the doorway. Elanarie – who had begun calling herself Lana not long after he’d returned from Alderaan – had grown so much in the years Dorian had mostly been gone. She was just rising ten, and a bit small for her age were she full human, but was still so much taller and more graceful than he remembered even from his last visit.

“Ours!” Saaraij corrected herself.

“You cannot be so selfish with him, Saara,” Lana scolded as more children came in. “Dorian’s _ours_ to love and protect, remember? All of us who love him – even Felix.”

“Come on, Saara,” said Cariade, lifting the girl from Dorian’s arms. The young cathar had turned seventeen recently, his pale fur having darkened over the years to rich gold that matched the molten glow of his eyes. He wore armored robes similar to Felix’s – a blend of cortosis and silk that would turn lightsaber blows and gave all the maneuverability he could want – and by the wear, Dorian had little doubt that the boy was on break from the Academy. Nonhumans who were not sith were not treated kindly by students or faculty, but Dorian had little doubt Lucian had ensured his adopted children were all capable of surviving those brutal halls.

“No, Cari. Mine.” She pouted up her befurred brother.

“Ours, Saara.” Cariade looked around. “Sorry to interrupt, my lords. This is the usual time that our parents meet us for breakfast. We were unaware that there were guests beyond Lord Gereon.”

“That should be Darth Tempus to the likes of you,” muttered Angral, only to be silenced by a look from the Darth himself.

“I take it breakfast is served?” said Baras.

“In the large dining room, my lords.” Cariade bowed, elegant despite the small, irritated barnacle attached to his side.

“Griddlecakes,” said Saaraij as the boy carried her, leading the others out. Lana studied them all with solemn eyes for a moment, then darted in, squeezing Dorian around the waist with a tiny “missed you” before following at a sedate pace.

“They’ve all grown so much,” said Dorian, casting a glance at his uncle as everyone stood.

“Lea’lei and Brathe will begin at the Academy soon,” said Calpurnia, taking his arm, as elegant and poised as any high-born sith woman. Sometimes it was hard to remember that when they’d met she’d been a slave thrust upon him by the machinations of the Academy. Four years had done a lot to change her, as well – first as his uncle’s apprentice and now as his wife.

“They’ll do well,” said Dorian, leading her from the room.

“No doubt,” her smile gleamed like a ’saber.

“So how long did it take Lucian to figure out a way for you to use his name?” he asked as they made their way to the dining room.

She threw a glance back toward the others, who were following slowly.

“Longer than it should have. He was remarkably stubborn about certain things.”

“Ah,” said Dorian, “I’d wondered – he waited until you took your Trials officially, didn’t he?”

Her smile softened to a gentler, less deadly glow. “He wanted there to be no room for doubt. I know you told me that you – your family – didn’t keep slaves, didn’t like those kinds of power differentials, but I always expected that he’d use me that way. But he didn’t. At first I just…”

“No need to speak it,” said Dorian, with a fair suspicion of what she would say. Seduction was a tool common among slaves and Sith alike. “It is the way of many Sith to use one another. Hardly unexpected, and easily forgiven.”

“…perhaps,” Calpurnia acknowledged. “Months of taunting him when he didn’t do as expected. Of course your uncle is a bad, bad man.”

He grinned down at her dimples. “Taunted you back, did he?”

“He’s fit,” she said primly. “A Thalrassian trait, I can certainly attest. Probably better that you provoke lust more than anger – not that you aren’t capable of that as well. Somewhere on the way I realized that the passion I had was more than just lust, though it’s terribly gauche to say so.”

“Are you happy?”

It was a dangerous question to pose any Sith. They were the chief servants of the Empire – the most glorified slaves to its master and its purpose; the most exalted and most reviled. For all their power, no Sith’s life was easy, or necessarily happy.

“I am,” she murmured. “And I hope that you will be as well.”

They entered the dining room to find the children already at the table in boisterous cacophony. The sideboards were full, holding a preponderance of Dorian’s favorites along with a selection of delicacies the cook would normally not have bothered with, even for a visit from Gereon.

“I see that _someone_ got the message about our guests,” said Dorian as Calpurnia released his arm. Her laughter chimed in harmony with the children’s as he picked up a plate to make his selections.

“Not a proper service,” said Angral. “Where are your slaves?”

“The family does not keep slaves, Darth Angral,” said Lucian. “We’ve never been in that habit.”

“You buy them frequently enough,” Retrost sniped.

“Indeed we do,” said Calpurnia, who was wiping a damp cloth along Saaraij’s cheeks. “We find many Force sensitives among the freeborn and the enslaved and ensure that they have proper grounding before they’re sent to the Academy. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” said Malgus, preempting Angral, to the other man’s obvious disgust. “I’ve seen a small increase in competent Acolytes in our campaigns. Your doing?”

“Us, a few others,” said Lucian. “Dorian was quite… eloquent about what he found when he went to the Academy. He was most distressed by the waste of resources represented by acolytes that had no prior Sith training at all.”

“Truly a worthy endeavor,” said Baras, chuckling. “I’m sure it will do us no harm to serve ourselves for a change.”

“How does it differ from any other day?” asked Retrost, pulling off his helmet. It was all Dorian could do to _not_ look at Saaraij, whose sandy-blond hair was so similar to Retrost’s sandy-brown.

“Most days,” said Dorian, taking a seat near the little girl, “I serve the Empire.”

“And you do it well,” said Felix, taking the seat next to him. “More Sith should be like you.”

Dorian forced himself to laugh, kissing his husband’s cheek. “You’re a bit biased, _cyare._ ”

“No, indeed,” said Gereon. “We could all do with more Sith who care for the Empire as you do…”

As one the children looked up, abruptly silenced.

“…as I’m sure your cousins all know, as well as those your uncle takes in. I’m sure it will profit the Empire greatly.”

“Of course we do,” said Lana, her golden, predator’s eyes glowing. “It’s almost time for lessons. We will all be the best Sith we can be.”

“Bes’ an’ mos’ sith Sith.” Saaraij actually pounded her small fist on the table. She looked up at Dorian. “Be good! ’s time for floats, then old sith an med’tay. An’ nap. Should come for nap.”

He grinned down at her, charmed and a bit nonplussed by the enjoinder to ‘be good.’ Saaraij stood on her chair to place another smacking kiss on his cheek, before taking her now empty plate to the sideboard, where all the dirty dishes rested.

“What a delightful child,” said Malgus. “Not quite full sith, is she?”

“One of her parents was human,” said Lucian, staring after the children. “Not that there’s any such thing as a full sith, unless you count our massassi progenitors.”

“Her mother?” asked Retrost, sly.

“She is my daughter,” said Lucian.

“But you had no wife when the girl was born,” said Baras. “And you have always held that you keep no slaves. Who, then, could her mother be?”

“What does it matter?” asked Malgus. “She has the eyes of the Old Blood, as all Thalrassians have had since before the Empire was founded. Even if the child is a bastard by some whore Lord Thalrassian met in the markets – or even a lost babe from the streets – it is to the Empire’s benefit that he has claimed her. In law there is no difference.”

“But in custom there is. You can’t blame us for wondering. The child is like as to be the heir to the Thalrassian name, regardless of Lucian’s… marriage.” Angral stared at Calpurnia, who sat leaning gracefully against Lucian’s side while she sipped caf and reviewed messages on a datapad. “There’s no way that the Council will accept...”

“My children?” Lucian slipped an arm around Calpurnia’s waist, resting his hand over her womb like a challenge. She didn’t even glance up, despite the tension.

“You’re the one who would breed with… one of the lesser,” said Angral. “You have to understand that your choice comes with consequences.”

“Angral,” said Dorian mildly, “this is why you cannot complete a conquest. You are completely unable to win the hearts and minds, instead you choose to blunder around alienate them.”

He popped a piece of _khorush-_ fruit pastry in his mouth, enjoying the way the flakes melted sweetly on his tongue, mingling gloriously with the sour-bitter of the fruit.

“You dare?”

“You no longer outrank me,” said Dorian, pulling another flaky piece away from the gooey, fruit-filled core. “And it seems I am to pacify people you _could_ have won from the Republic without engaging in a pointless bloodbath. So, yes. I _dare_.”

He met Angral’s eyes squarely. “You don’t like mel. So be it. I don’t need to be liked to do the job I’ve been given to do. I’m no threat to you, or Malgus, or Baras – I wish only to serve the Empire to the best of my ability, care for my family, and perfect myself. I’m tasked to rebuild a world so it welcomes its allegiance to the Empire. Well and good. It takes different skills than the ones you use to make war. Granted, if I’m to also take more worlds in that sector – Taekhren and Jobzhal, if I remember correctly, and excellent choices for their natural resources and lovely wines – there will likely be combat, but it needn’t be with people we want to rule.”

Dorian lifted the strip of pastry to his lips, nibbling on it, unconcerned with Angral’s burning, angry gaze.

“You would remember the wines.”

Dorian ignored Malgus’ laughter, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed.

“I will do what I can to do what I apparently do best, my lord,” said Dorian, “because what is _mine_ , I _keep._ I will love and protect my people, because that is what it means to be _Sith._ ”

“There’s no need to lecture your elders, whelp,” said Lucian. “You’re Thalrassian, they know that you’re of the Old Blood and of the Old Ways. No need to hammer it in.”

“No, indeed,” said Baras. “It’s quite refreshing to see such a resurgence. There are so many who do not know or respect the ancient ways of our people. We would all be better for it.”

“We are what the Emperor asks us to be,” said Angral.

“Of course,” said Dorian. “My service is to the Empire and the Emperor. And for that reason, I would be glad of your advice on the tactics for the sector. I would be grateful to hear Darth Malgus’ ideas for the deployment of troops.   Darth Baras is known for having just the right secrets to exploit, to turn things to the Empire’s favor.”

The look Angral sent him was strange – a kind of rage-filled disbelief.   He met the red-gold eyes in utter calm, letting his own rage and frustration stalk the room firmly tethered to his will.

“They should have called you _Darth Senthru,_ ” said Malgus, sounding vaguely impressed.

“It is the calm center,” said Dorian, “that controls the storm. It is not enough to be chaos and destruction, my lords – to be that is to be a danger to all our Empire has built.”

“And yet you wear the armor of strangers, and speak their language,” Retrost challenged.

“I have learned a great deal from my _aliit_ ,” Dorian riposted. “Mandalorians do one thing above all others – they _survive._ They do not worry about bloodline, or species, or gender – and their numbers _grow_. They may trend toward being rough or uncouth, but they live in honor.”

“It doesn’t hurt that _beskargam_ turns lightsabers,” quipped Krem.

Dorian shot him a wry look. “A selling point, to be sure.”

“Very well,” said Angral. “I doubt we will ever agree on tactics. You are entirely too weak in your handling of those we have conquered, in my opinion, but I must acknowledge that you get undeniable results.”

Dorian nodded.

“Very well.” Angral stood. “I will leave you to your meal. I expect to see you at the Citadel within the next –” he paused, looking at Malgus “—within the next three ten-days.”

“He’s technically on leave,” said Malgus, who had also risen to his feet. “For a month.”

Angral sighed. “Fine. One month from today – but I expect that you will be ready to do what is needed to take over on S’keth.”

“As you will my lord,” said Dorian.

Baras gave them all a small smile, setting down his fork before wiping his lips gently with his napkin.

“I must thank you all, for the meal and the entertainment. Darth Teizibe, I will have dossiers available to you by the time you return to Dromund Kaas. I strongly advise that you make selections for your staff as soon as possible, so that Imperial Intelligence will have time to sufficiently vet your candidates.”

Retrost said nothing, merely giving him a look of profound dislike before putting his mask back on. Dorian leaned back in his chair, idly running his napkin through his fingers as three of the four men filed out of the room.

“You’ve grown,” said Malgus, having re-attached the face-plate of his cybernetic respirator. “Almost – almost – I am tempted to offer you what you once offered me.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, allowing that even changed by the bionics, Malgus’ voice still filled him with heat. But the extra punch of the _Draw_ remained absent, and for a moment, Dorian wondered what the Force knew that he didn’t.

“That would be interesting,” said Dorian. “But my husband isn’t inclined to share.”

Felix pinched him, and he turned.

“My love, if you think I’m going to cock-block _Darth Malgus_ , you are entirely in the wrong,” said Felix. “Not to mention there’s no need to deny anything, as long as I get to watch.”

Calpurnia, who had largely ignored them all, turned her head, amethyst eyes sparking with gold.

“Is there anyone in the Empire who would deny Darth Malgus if he Offered Service?”

“Probably all of them,” said Dorian, “as they’d likely be dead from the shock. You should try it with Angral, just to see what he’d say.”

“A thought,” Malgus chuckled. “But as I said – almost. You’ll have to achieve something more interesting if you want to see me on my knees.”

With that, he strode out, passing through the archway like mist.

“So…” said Felix, cocking his head. “You Offered _Malgus_ Service?”

“Mmmmm,” said Dorian. “Yes?”

“And he _accepted?”_

“Of course,” said Dorian. “I am me, after all. Who would say no to this perfection?”

“Father, Lucian, Calpurnia – if you’ll excuse us,” said Felix. “I believe my husband owes me _naked story time._ We’ll be back for lunch.” He paused, looking Dorian up and down. “Then again, he _is_ wearing the armor. It just might take until dinner.”

-0-

The time passed quickly, in a flurry of activity that Dorian hadn’t anticipated. He sent Krem and Grim to S’keth to scope out the lay of the land. The initial reports were not encouraging. It would be difficult – between Angral’s brutality in conquest and the unnecessarily violent reprisals to peaceful protests, the population wasn’t going to be receptive to much of anything.

“Felix, darling, please tell me _your_ preparations are going more smoothly than mine.” Dorian threw his datapad across the room, scowling as it hit the back of the settee and bounced, landing precariously on the edge of the seat cushion.

Felix – who was surrounded by data discs, datapads, and stacks of flimsy – looked up, a small smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “That’s not hard, Dorian. You’re trying to reform the Empire in a microcosm of your choosing, I’m just prepping for your average tomb exploration.”

Dorian stared pointedly at the explosion of research that surrounded his husband, and Felix laughed.

“Feeling neglected, are we?”

“I certainly am,” Dorian admitted, unashamed. “I don’t know about you. I’d rather hoped that we’d be getting an extended sex holiday, and not this… this…”

“Work?” Felix set the datapad he’d been working on aside. “You love it.”

“Yes,” Dorian admitted, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “But not more than I love you. I find myself oddly terrified that this will take over my life. _Our_ lives. And then end badly.”

There was a rustle and the sound of Felix’s chair moving away from the desk. Footsteps approached, soft and confident, and a strong hand pulled on the back of his chair, spinning him around. He looked up into amused honey-hazel eyes.

“I’m not feeling neglected, Dorian. I’m not going to abandon you because of your job.” Warm fingers skimmed his cheek and Felix leaned in, brushing their lips together softly.

Dorian lazily lifted a hand, threading his fingers into Felix’s hair, pulling him closer. Felix chuckled into his mouth, straddling his lap and beginning small, scouting runs with his quick tongue. Dorian responded by dropping his other hand to Felix’s ass, and beginning a series of skirmishes that resulted in pliant surrender as he slowly fucked Felix’s mouth with his tongue.

“Old gods,” Felix murmured as Dorian pulled back to nibble his way up Felix’s jaw. He pulled on Felix’s sable curls, exposing the long, pale line of his throat. “Dorian.”

“Are you _sure_ I haven’t been neglecting you, husband?” He traced a long, wet stripe up Felix’s jugular, tracing ancient symbols of power over the rapid fluttering of his pulse. Felix moaned, forearms taut as he tightened his hold on the back of Dorian’s chair. Toned muscle flexed beneath Dorian’s other hand, as Felix shifted, grinding their cocks together.

Red flowed up over Felix’s collar bones, blood heating the ivory column of his throat as Dorian bit down, sucking hard against the pinkening skin. Felix swallowed against his lips before speaking in a voice so low Dorian barely heard it.

“Never,” the word was husky and fierce, a brightly shining presence in the Force as Felix pushed his own hand into Dorians hair and _pulled._ “You would _never_ neglect me. _You_ don’t get lost in mystery.”

Gold blazed in Felix’s eyes and his grip gentled. He rested their foreheads together.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Dorian.” Nimble fingers slid down Dorian’s cheeks, brushing his lips lightly as Felix sat back. “I don’t doubt your love – you shouldn’t either.”

Felix loosened the button that held the high collar of Dorian’s shirt closed. Warm fingers traced the column of his throat, nails scratching lightly as they moved down, parting layers of silk like forest vines. Felix, as always, was eager to explore.

“Felix.”

“Shhh,” Felix breathed against his lips. “Let me take care of you.”

“I should…”

“Relax,” Felix’s hips rolled against his. “Indulge,” callused fingers brushed over his chest, palms flattening, hot and moist over his nipples. “Gather.”

Pleasure flowed, hot and heavy from the sweep of Felix’s hands, the touch of the Force both delicate and profound. Dorian groaned. “This is why you’re the explorer and I’m the soldier.”

“Soldier, scholar, philosopher –” Felix murmured against his mouth. “ _Sith_. Everything I could want, Dorian.”

Gentle fingers ran over a sensitive scar, and Dorian hissed, bucking up, the memory of fire licking across his ribs.

“Bastard,” he ground out, reveling in the echoed pain. “Beloved.”

“You have felt neglected,” said Felix, pulling out the physical memory of a vibroknife to the kidney. “I’m sorry, love.”

Dorian gripped Felix’s waist, back curved in a screaming arch as he welcomed the pain. Dark energy flared between them, slick and restless, as Dorian writhed under Felix’s knowing hands. Endorphins surged as he drank the growing power down, and Dorian found himself laughing.

“Let it go.” Electricity prickled and sparked over his skin as Felix slid down, releasing the closures that kept his lower robes shut. “Let it go.”

Dorian’s blood surged, filling his cock – _human erectile tissue,_ his doctor so dismissively called it, despite the grooves and flanges that marked him _sith_ – and Felix hummed appreciatively, settling between Dorian’s thighs.

“You should take advantage,” Felix told, him, lifting Dorian’s hands to his hair. “I keep it shaved in the jungle.”

“A shame,” said Dorian, fisting his hands in the rough silk and pulling Felix forward. “I want your mouth.”

“Void, yes,” Felix breathed, fingers dancing pain over old wounds before sliding his mouth down in a long, slow glide. Dorian grunted, watching the glistening red of his cock disappear between Felix’s swollen lips, before pulling back and fucking the welcoming throat.

Golden eyes gleamed, fingers finding the saber burn on his hip and pulling the memory from his flesh. Dorian laughed, shuddering through the pain as Felix swallowed around him.

“Old gods, I adore you,” Dorian groaned, spilling down Felix’s throat. “So eager to submit, but never without thorns.”

Felix pulled back, lips swollen and wet with come, releasing Dorian’s cock with an obscene pop.

He smirked, sly and wicked, chin glistening with _aaghaz,_ the fertile-oil of sith.

“Who submits?” Felix husked. “The one on his knees, or the one helpless before pleasure?”

Dorian growled, twisting his hand in Felix’s hair, sparks dancing on his fingertips.

“Why don’t we just see about that, _nulis’e-sith,”_ he said, pushing his laughing husband to the floor, the slow, ponderous stretch of bone filling and lifting his wet, oil-slick cock more thoroughly than blood. “Who _will_ surrender first?”

-0-

“It’s rather a mess,” Dorian explained the impasse with Angral to Saaraij, more thinking aloud than expecting any kind of answer. She was using him as a throne while she used the Force to build… he wasn’t quite sure what, though it was reaching an improbable height.

“Mess!” she agreed, her tiny hands unclenching. The structure wobbled, but stayed upright, despite the largely disparate polyhedrons she’d used to build it. The standard boxes and spheres were interspersed with tetrahedrons and diamonds, twisted rhomboids and precariously tilted cones. As Dorian stared at the towering construct, it seemed to shift, becoming dark and infinitely foreboding. He looked down at Saaraij, who sat with her eyes locked upon it, expression almost unbearably sad. Saaraij reached out a hand, and the whole came tumbling down. “Mess.”

“She’s been building that every day for months,” Lana said, stepping into the room. “It’s refined her control considerably.”

“What does she see, I wonder?” There were tears in Saaraij’s eyes, even as she started over. “Saara? What are you building?”

“Spire,” she told him, her lower lip trembling. “Peace lies. Falls down. All _falls down!_ ” Saaraij twisted in his arms. “Why it fall, Dor’an? Why can’t be nice?”

Her tears spilled and the blocks lifted, spinning and spiraling, before reassembling themselves into the same, towering structure. It wobbled, much as it did before, and Dorian frowned, touching it gently with the Force. There was a hollow inside of it, a spot where the strongest support should be, but instead there was only Saaraij’s determination, and an echo of knowledge that even her fierce, young will should not be there.

“Because it has no heart,” said Dorian, “and you cannot be there to serve as one.”

He didn’t know where the words came from, but from the bright electrum gleam of Saaraij’s eyes, and the vibrant, glowing gold of Lana’s, he knew the Force was flowing strongly through them. All of them.

Saaraij turned her head, small mouth pressed in a firm line. “I be heart, Dor’an. But late. It fall.”

This time Dorian caught the blocks when Saaraij let them go, lowering them slowly. He kept the shape in mind and began the base of the Spire again.

“The thing about things that fall,” said Dorian. “Is that you can raise them again. You can rebuild.”

He looked down at Lana, who had made herself comfortable, sitting next to his knee. Her hand rested comfortingly on Saaraij’s leg. She looked up at Saaraij, eyes filled with resolve. “We can build it up again – more stable, more powerful. Without the lies.”

Saaraij nodded, hiccoughing, adding her blocks until they’d rebuilt the structure as sturdily as they could.

Dorian stared at the new, far more graceful construction and thought about S’keth. Angral had strewn the blocks of their society and government all over the ground. There’s nothing he could do about that. But with his blocks on the floor, it might be possible build a new foundation, and preserve as much as he can from what remains.

No, he thought, as Saaraij added more fanciful curves and arabesques to her tower. He could help provide a sturdy foundation, and let the S’keth build what they needed for themselves.

-0-

“This is preposterous!” Angral paced on the far side of the room. “My lords -- you cannot be serious about allowing him this! These people should be cowed – enslaved! Infrastructure projects? Equal rights initiatives? _This is not the Empire!”_

Darth Vowrawn raised an eyebrow. “Calm yourself, dear boy. Darth Teizibe was chosen for this project _because_ he has a differing perspective from so many of us.”

“The world is nothing,” Angral spat. “It’s people are meaningless.”

“Then why did you go to so much trouble to acquire it?” asked Dorian, slouching comfortably in one of Vowrawn’s chairs, making a show of casually reading the mission reports Krem has sent him. He looked up. “Oh, right – because it helps provide a buffer between the Empire, the Hutts, and the Republic.”

“You should be making an example of them! Make them – make everyone fear us!”

Dorian turned the datapad off, dropping it into his lap. “Angral, darling, have you _ever_ listened to the propaganda the Jedi and the Republic put out about us? I assure you, they fear us quite enough. What I’m suggesting is a different kind of campaign.”

“I would like to hear the boy out,” said Darth Vengean, head of the Sphere of Military Offense after exchanging a look with Darth Kardas, second to Darth Ekkage of Military Strategy.

Dorian nodded. “My lords, the single greatest weapon that Republic has against us is _numbers._ I know – I _know_ – we have the advantage in discipline and skill, but in the end they can field greater numbers of soldiers and materièl. More – like they bloody hypocrites they are – they stir up passion and hatred against us with exaggerated tales of Imperial cruelty, inciting them to greater strength and devotion to their cause. They do not tell Republic worlds of the good the Empire does for its citizens. Imagine how crippling a blow it would be if they were _shown_ the extent to which inclusion in the Empire improves lives.”

“There are worlds we could already point to,” said Kardas, leaning back on the comfortable settee Vowrawn kept in his Citadel chambers, her folded hands resting lightly on her knee. Dorian studied his fellow sith, noting armored silks and intricate layers of traditional braiding that held ruby-black hair up and away from her face.

“Worlds that are far from the Republic’s borders,” he riposted. Her teeth flashed, sharply white against the scarlet of her skin. She nodded sharply.

“It’s not an entirely bad idea.”

“Which means that it’s not a good one,” snarled Angral.

“Watch your tone.” The words were unaccountably gentle, but Kardas’ eyes were not. “Your job is to wage war, Angral. _My_ job includes solidifying our hold on what you take. We could enslave the native population, of course – the Empire is always in need of labor and fodder. But who then would populate this world and work the land? In case you haven’t noticed, the Empire has few worlds with significant populations, where the Republic could overpopulate S’keth simply by exporting the inhabitants of the lower levels of Coruscant.”

Angral seethed.

“You said you’d welcome my advice.”

“I never said I’d take it.” Dorian sighed. “I do want your advice – but not on how to _hold_ S’keth, but on the best targets to secure the sector. Piracy and smuggling are always issues near Hutt space, and – regardless of the state of the war, it is the joint responsibility of Military Offense and Military Defense to keep our borders secure.”

Darth Marr, who stood looming by the floor-to-ceiling windows of Vowrawn’s office, growled softly.

“Tread carefully, boy.”

Dorian gave a little nod. “My apologies if I have given offense.”

Kardas looked at Vowrawn. “The real question is the logistics – that’s you, Vowrawn.”

“Hmmm, yes,” Vowrawn gave them all an impish smile. “From my end – well, it’s something of a squeeze, you understand. It’s true that we could do with an influx of slaves – who knew that so much of the forced-labor population was also strong in the Force? A matter which I am looking in to, naturally, as potential Sith should not be wasted sowing fields, but that, too, is a matter for another time. There are some funds, of course. There’s a fresh crop of civil engineers at the University here in Kaas City that I had intended to deploy elsewhere… Their salaries are already provided for in the budget.”

Vengean frowned. “We can ensure you have engineers and such. You’ll have command of the battlegroup _Stormtide_. They’re your soldiers, you can do with them as you will.”

“Why not rotate all the damn useless aliens in my forces to him, while you’re at it,” Angral sneered.

“That’s actually a marvelous idea!” said Dorian. “S’keth has a large non-human population. Seeing non-humans in positions of military authority would be quite useful.”

Angral’s mouth snapped shut.

“Your proposal is… interesting,” said Marr. In this room, with his face behind the mask he customarily wore, Marr was the leader of the Dark Council and not the serious, but caring man who came to family gatherings. “What benefits do you see if your plan works?”

“One,” Dorian ticked off, raising a finger, “it would punch giant holes in the Republic’s propaganda machine if we build worlds up and lure them willingly away from their Republican leanings. They _so_ like to demonize us, and showing the Jedi up as the liars they are is always to our benefit.

“Two,” he raised another finger, “It’s easy to justify invading worlds where you’re certain you’ll be viewed as a liberator. As we all know, taking military control of worlds that are not interested in serving your polity results in resentment and rebellion. The Republic is entirely unfamiliar with trying to take hostile worlds. While they are likely to try subversion… well, that’s what Imperial Intelligence is _for_.

“Three,” he raised this last finger with finality, “Taekhren and Jobzhal are positively ripe for plucking if we play our hand correctly in the sector. There’s been an increase in slaving raids all along that border. Piracy and criminal activity have increased almost a thousand fold since the beginning of the war. If we pacify the _sector_ , not the _systems_ – if we provide peace and prosperity to S’keth, incidentally improving the security and economies of its neighbors? We can publicly steal them from the Republic. _Without_ bloodshed.”

“This plan will take _years_ ,” Angral objected.

“Do you really think your war is going anywhere?” sniped Kardas. “Your victories for the Empire have been many and varied, but not one of them has led to the surrender of the Republic, nor the destruction of the Jedi. This plan, at least, has the potential to create loyal worlds.”

“How dare—”

“Enough!” thundered Marr. “Darth Teizibe, your proposal will be brought before the Dark Council. If nothing else, your plan to hunt down and destroy the pirates and _unauthorized_ slavers in the sector is approved. We have brought S’keth into the fold of the Empire and as such it is an asset to be protected from outside exploitation.”

Vengean nodded, rising. He gave a small bow to Marr. “Come, Angral. You have a campaign to plan, and I can have some of the strategists work something up for Teizibe.”

“An interesting start,” said Kardas, uncrossing her legs and standing. Her hands lifted toward the ceiling as she stretched, moving with a supple and deadly grace as the others filed out. “What I’m most interested in, though, is your desire for educators.”

“Not the equal rights platform?”

“Oh, _that_ I fully comprehend, Teizibe. It’s not going to be popular here in Kaas City – any implication that aliens can be equal to us is frowned on. Still, S’keth _isn’t_ Dromund Kaas. It may be a reasonable proving ground for differing perspectives. If nothing else, it’s an audacious move, especially when paired with the decision to take no slaves. It’s daring. Bold.” She sauntered up to him, slim hips swaying like reeds in the great river. Dorian licked his lips as she came close, allowing her to take his arm as they left Vowrawn’s office. “I find boldness… exciting.” Her breath caressed his cheek as she leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Very. Exciting.”

“I apologize, my lord,” Dorian paused, looking down at her. “I find myself quite happy in my marriage.”

Kardas pouted a moment, an unexpectedly attractive expression Dorian suspected of being practiced in a mirror, and she laughed.

“You’re so very pretty,” she told him, pulling back with a small shrug. “With the brains, it’s almost disgustingly attractive. You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Well, I _have_ seen me,” he smiled into cold, sith-gold eyes, projecting a humor he didn’t feel. “So I’m aware of how irresistibly desirable I am. It’s a terrible burden I assure you.”

“Your husband is very lucky.” They resumed walking, turning down the side corridor that lead to her office.

“I’m the lucky one – Darth Tempus was not best pleased with the proposed match, but Felix is both stubborn and subtle. He managed to convince his father that a lowly Lord was a worthy consort.”

Her lips curled, showing her teeth.

“You wanted to know about my plans?” he asked, as she palmed open her door, stepping inside.

Kardas dipped her chin in minute acknowledgement and pulled out a datapad, seating herself at a pristinely organized desk. “Begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Dorian and Felix have some pain kinks, some D/s kinds of overtones and all that stuffs.


	7. Dorian:  S'keth, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not wrong to be angry.” Dorian pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, a piece of worn cotton washed to the point of feather softness, and the indeterminate grey that eschewed whatever color it might once have been. He used it to wipe the sweat of toil from his face and then looked down at it as if in surprise. “It’s not wrong to feel. Once upon a time, someone I loved gave this to me. I’ve got dozens of these things, but this is the one I put in my pocket, because it reminds me of something good. Is that wrong? To be attached to the memory, to the person who gave it to me?”
> 
> “…no?” Gaethe whispered. “But the Jedi –”
> 
> “Sod the kriffing Jedi,” Dorian snapped. “I’m not asking them. Do you – do any of you think it’s wrong to be attached to people, to places or things? To love them and want to care for them? Is it wrong?”
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Character death

It was hard work, but satisfying, Dorian thought as he used the Force to lift the last pieces of debris and float them over to the recycling unit. Around him uniformed soldiers worked under the still-startled command of local construction workers and the civil engineers he’d appropriated from Vowrawn early on. Krem and the _Kad-an_ were spread out amidst the wondering crowd, providing mostly-unobtrusive security for Dorian and his students as they did the heavy lifting for the final clean-up of the destruction Angral had wrought the year before during S’keth’s conquest.

“Are we done?” panted Kiryze, sweat staining her forehead. The young twi’lek was the most powerful of the Force sensitives they’d found on S’keth, with a talent for healing that was so profound that it inhibited her ability to fight. Dorian hoped to secure the girl a direct apprenticeship – a gift like hers was a boon to the Empire, and the thought of it being lost to the casual violence of the Academy was disheartening.

“I believe so,” he told her, “but please go check with the foreman to be sure.”

Kiryze blushed and the other students giggled at Dorian’s unsubtle matchmaking. He couldn’t blame the girl for her crush on the tall, burly human – the man was ruggedly handsome by any standard.

“Go on, now,” he told her. “I’m sure he won’t bite unless you ask him _very_ nicely.” He paused. “You might consider asking, you know. You’re not training to be a Jedi – you’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

She snorted. “He’s got a partner.”

“Ah,” he clapped a hand on her shoulder. “That’s unfortunate, if the stingy bastards aren’t willing to share. Still, there’s no reason you can’t go talk to the man and take advantage of the fact you want him.”

“I don’t poach.” Kiryze glared at him. “Just because the man is hot enough to turn sand into glass doesn’t mean I should impose myself on him. It’s disrespectful and dishonorable.”

“Your restraint is admirable, my dear. I won’t lie – more Sith could stand to follow your example. But, while I personally think that flirting is the only way to deal with anyone, that’s not what I mean.” Dorian waved his hands, summoning the rest of his class over. He’d requested tutors for the Force sensitive, of course, but he’d been drawn, almost inexorably, to making enough time to teach them himself. “Gentlebeings, what is the first rule of the Sith?”

“There is no peace, there is only passion,” said one of the boys in a bored voice.

“And the second?”

“Through passion, we gain strength,” said Kiryze.

“Now, what does that mean? There’s the obvious, of course – as we’ve discussed, strong feelings can be used as fuel. Usually we speak of translating anger – rage, wrath, despite – or fear. But any strong emotion works, creating energy you can use to build up your reserves, whether you spend them on the battlefield or at the bedside. We’ve discussed this, creating a personal store of energy.”

More half-scandalized giggles erupted and Dorian sighed. “I had no idea you lot would be such prudes. Masturbation, aside from being pleasurable and unlikely to cause you to go blind, or whatever that rot the Jedi polluted your beliefs with, is a useful tool. Sex is, as well. Arousal, frustration, lust, longing – all can be powerful emotions. You can let that energy dissipate, of course, or explode out at the most inconvenient times –”

Kiryze coughed.

“—darling, I assure you, there isn’t a Sith alive who hasn’t had something levitate at an inopportune moment– but honestly, why would you?”

“The Jedi teach that you can release your desires into the Force,” said Gaethe, a human boy who wasn’t especially powerful in the Force, but had extraordinary fine control. Felix had already spoken of taking Gaethe as his own apprentice – delicacy was not a trait usually sought after in the Academy, but was highly desirable in the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. Unfortunately, the boy was also the one who had been most affected by Jedi indoctrination.

“Indeed you can,” said Dorian, which made Gaethe frown. “What? Sometimes that, too, is a useful tool. There are times when pushing intense emotion away is a better choice than using it. _Anger_ is useful. Uncontrolled rage is a _liability_.”

He swept a hand out, indicating the land that they’ve just finished clearing. A school had stood here once and would once again. It would be rebuilt to the highest Imperial standards, standards that would be sharply honed by the demands of the S’kethi people. It was a symbol of both forms of rage. Angral’s unbridled fury had caused unnecessary loss of life and infrastructure, and the justified wrath of the S’kethi had been channeled into the reconstruction efforts, doing in one solar year what Dorian had initially estimated would take five.

They all fell silent.

“And that’s the lesson, isn’t it?” asked Gaethe, looking thoughtful. The boy looked around, biting his lip. “When you came, everyone was angry. It was awful – like a dark veil over the sun. But the Jedi would have told us to release our anger into the Force. You… you showed us that we could use it. You didn’t say that we couldn’t be mad, that it was wrong.”

“It’s not wrong to be angry.” Dorian pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, a piece of worn cotton washed to the point of feather softness, and the indeterminate grey that eschewed whatever color it might once have been.   He used it to wipe the sweat of toil from his face and then looked down at it as if in surprise. “It’s not wrong to _feel._ Once upon a time, someone I loved gave this to me. I’ve got dozens of these things, but this is the one I put in my pocket, because it reminds me of something good. Is that wrong? To be attached to the memory, to the person who gave it to me?”

“…no?” Gaethe whispered. “But the Jedi –”

“Sod the kriffing Jedi,” Dorian snapped. “I’m not asking them. Do you – do any of you think it’s wrong to be attached to people, to places or things? To love them and want to care for them? Is it wrong?”

“No,” said Dainelle, a short Zabrak girl composed, in Dorian’s opinion, of flame and cortosis, the Mandalorian metal that turned blasters and ’sabers with casual ease. “It ain’t wrong to care. Ain’t wrong to be angry.”

“And so it is. It’s not wrong to love, to lust, to feel anger – what matters is what you do with it.”

“Is that why you come down and work, at least for a while, on all the projects? Because it matters what you do with your feelings?”

“I’m Sith.” The words were simple, though the reality was complex. “Reminders are always needed, if I am to fulfill my purpose.”

“What _is_ your purpose?” Dainelle spat the question out, angry as she always was, and it hadn’t eased in the months since her Force sensitivity had been discovered and she’d been added to the pool of students who would eventually be sent to the Academy.

“To serve the Empire and the Emperor.”

“What, and we’re part of the Empire? You figure that we’re gonna be good little Imperials and bow down to you? So you show off and posture and some shit like that, like we’re fooled?” She growled at him and he had to smile. Of them all, Dainelle was the one who – if she learned to channel that anger appropriately and didn’t get herself killed by offending the wrong person – would go the farthest among the Sith. “That amuse you, _Governor_?”

“That you think I’m capable of fooling anyone is moderately amusing, yes,” said Dorian.

“You really _should_ believe him,” said Skinner, coming up behind him, with Dalish tucked nervously by her side. “He’s a shit liar.”

“You’re always so mean to me, _vod’ike_ ,” Dorian complained.

“Suck it up, _darjetii’vod_. The foreman says they’re good to start work. You’ve got an appointment with Vedinost of Taekhren to go over trade agreements in about two hours and Felix will cut your nuts off if you don’t join him for lunch.”

Dorian held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

“Asshole. Finish up and get moving, you’ve got work to do.” Skinner marched off, leaving his students staring at him, gape-mouthed.

“Yes, this is my life,” Dorian told them. “Not some kind of pretense to try and win you over. Not that I wouldn’t like to win you over, but I rely on my stunning beauty for that. And she’s right. A governor’s work is never done. But yours is – get on with you. Tomorrow is a rest day.”

“You can’t win us all so easily as that,” muttered Dainelle as the others left.

“Darling, all I ask is that you give me, and the Empire, a chance,” said Dorian. “What happened here, to your people, was wrong. Don’t think I don’t know that. I can’t change the past, but I _am_ trying to build a future without bloodshed.”

Dainelle stared at him, rage lighting her eyes. “My family is dead because of your fucking Empire. My friends, they ain’t safe or accepted there. Fuckin’ xenophobes an’ racists an’ monsters an’ you want to make us _just like them._ ”

“Not at all.” He held her eyes. “To be perfectly honest, had I the power, I’d make _them_ much more like _you_. The Empire could use more people who are angry about injustice. You don’t like the Empire? Then _change_ it. _Use_ your rage, and stop letting it chain you. Gain the power you need to serve your people.”

She stilled, barely breathing, eyes beginning to glow a pale, pale gold.

“Change the Empire?”

“Why not?” he asked. “Rise high enough, and you have the chance of preventing this kind of thing from ever happening again. Use the Empire as it would use you. Let the Empire foot the bill for cleaning up its mess and upgrading infrastructure. Take advantage of all the opportunities offered to you. Serve your people and be a force for change.”

“Is this the way the Empire works?”

“It’s how it’s supposed to work.” He sighed. “Granted, not smoothly, nor often.”

“If I do this, I’ll still want to kill you, you know.”

“I imagine you’ll have to get in line,” he told her drily. “On the other hand, _I’ll_ be quite pleased to see you succeed. And do keep in mind, my dear, that I wasn’t here when your parents were killed. That was another Sith entirely.”

Dainelle nodded sharply, eyes narrow and assessing.

Dorian waved her off, turning and heading toward the armored and enclosed speeder Krem insisted on. Grim sat at the wheel, finger tapping against the molded plastic.

“Is there something wrong?” Dorian asked, sliding in.

“Unannounced guests,” Grim grunted, smoothly guiding the speeder up and into afternoon traffic.

“Lovely.”

“Family entrance. Darth Ekkage. Should wash.”

Dorian emitted a high-pitched noise that he would acknowledge as neither a squeak or a shriek, but certainly got Grim’s eyes to light up with humor.

“Did anyone know she was coming?”

“She did.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you. Very helpful. Does Krem know?”

“Brought assassins.”

“It’s Darth Ekkage. Of course she did. Almost her entire staff is made of assassins. That doesn’t negate _our_ need to provide some form of security detail for a member of the Dark Council.” Dorian drummed his fingers on his knee. “Just Ekkage? Is Kardas with her?”

“No.” The speeder dipped, dropping toward the private landing pad behind the official Governance Building, which held both the official offices of S’keth’s government and the suite of rooms that Dorian and Felix were occupying during this transition period. Eventually they’d have a larger home built, but Dorian had sworn to see all the citizens of S’keth properly housed before spending so much as a credit on a gubernatorial residence.

“Then who?”

“Retrost. With Ekkage.” Grim’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “ _Darjetii’ike.”_

“Little Sith?” Dorian’s eyes widened. “You mean Lucian is here? With the family?”

“ _Aliit_. Bull and Krem vs. assassins – good times.”

Dorian rubbed his forehead as they landed. Lucian and Calpurnia were welcome – they’d discussed the possibility of coming out to visit in their last holocall a few tendays ago. That they’d arranged it so quickly was a bit of a surprise. Still, Dorian welcomed the chance to see Saaraij and the other children. Ekkage – far less so. As Govenor of S’keth, he answered to the Imperial Conquest Consolidation Corps, which was under the control of the Sphere of Military Strategy. Normally he dealt with Kardas, Ekkage’s Second, who had so far been impressed with the progress made in wooing the locals. There was no guarantee that Ekkage would agree with her.

Darth Ekkage – Dark Council member, commander of the Red Legion, and peerless killer – she was patient, vicious, and frankly not someone he wanted himself or his family around for any length of time.

“Right then,” Dorian said to himself, exiting the speeder. He heard the thunder of little feet – and a fewer larger ones – as he reached the security entrance and braced himself as the guard opened the door.

“Dorian!” Saaraij launched herself from the doorway, almost knocking the air out of him as she hit him square in the chest. What a difference a little over a Standard year had made! Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she babbled excitedly at him about the trip, her schooling, her siblings, and the things she’d seen on their way in from the spaceport and Dorian closed his eyes, holding her tightly.

The excited burble ran down and Dorian opened his eyes to see Lucian and Calpurnia eyeing him indulgently, surrounded by all the kids – even the ones who’d entered the Academy. Perhaps especially them – survivors all, like his S’kethi, and his heart warmed to see them.

A great smacking kiss landed on his cheek and he looked down.

“Welcome home!” Saaraij grinned up at him and planted another one on his nose. “You stink.”

“I’ve been working quite hard, little imp, so there was bound to be some sweat.” He shifted his grip so he could tickle her side, making her chortle. He looked at his uncle. “It’s a delight to see you all! I trust you had a safe trip?”

“Indeed we did, Dorian,” said Lucian. “No issues at all. I hope it’s not an inconvenience, but Cariade had some important news, and most of this lot will be away at school by the time you have a chance to visit _us_.”

“You’ve won an apprenticeship,” Dorian guessed, walking toward them, and Cariade flashed his sharp teeth. “And you, auntie dear… you’re going to make me a cousin again, aren’t you?”

Calpurnia smirked while the children gasped.

“Momma?” “Mom?” “Really?” “Yaaaay!”

The kids descended into excited babble. Lucian looked down at his wife, brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell me?”

Cariade punched Lucian in the shoulder. “ _You_ didn’t _notice?_ ”

“What?” asked Lucian. “She’s _always_ beautiful, deadly, and full of fire.”

“Good catch,” Dorian murmured as they passed through the entryway.

“I thought so,” Lucian muttered back. “How’d _you_ know?”

Dorian rolled his eyes without answering. Saaraij leaned away from Dorian’s chest in order to get a clear view of Lucian.

“Can feel them, silly,” she whispered – or tried to. Volume control wasn’t really one of her strong points.

“Them?” asked Calpurnia.

“Mmmhmm!” said Saaraij. “Po..p’ten’tls.”

“Potentials?” Saaraij nodded vigorously at him.

Calpurnia looked stunned. “Twins?”

“This calls for a celebration!” said Dorian. “But… after I get cleaned up.”

“And finish your day,” said Lucian, pulling Saaraij from his arms. “Oof. You’re getting too big to be carried around like this, little sith.”

“Nuh, uh. _Qyâsik_ , daddy. Never too big.”

Dorian’s brows rose. “Old Sith?”

“We think she’s been picking it up from the researchers,” said Lucian. “Force knows that she and Lana spend half their time exploring Qarinus.”

Dorian opened his mouth.

“With the _Kad-an_ as an escort, I assure you.”

“…I didn’t suspect you of letting children run loose on an archaeological site.”

“Yes, you did – but given your mother’s propensity to let you run free in _tombs_ , with _traps_ …”

Dorian coughed.

“Go take a shower and join us all for mid-meal. Shoo.”

Not being a fool, Dorian went.

 

Lunch was an odd affair, served _en famille_ with the children, but with the icy presence of Darth Ekkage and the grating irritation that was Lord Retrost.

“I understand you spent the morning with the rebuilding efforts.” Ekkage’s eyes burned red-gold in a pale face mottled with Darkness.

Dorian finished chewing the morsel of delightfully prepared local fowl, and swallowed thoughtfully. He set his fork aside, turning his full attention to her.

“I did. I find it a useful learning environment for my students, and a good way to remain visible to our citizens.”

“Citizens?” asked Retrost, sneering. “The conquered rabble are hardly Imperials.”

“Are they not?” Calpurnia shot Retrost a look of pure dislike. “By birth or by conquest, they are citizens of the Empire.”

“As though the opinion of a slave –”

“You will be civil at my table, or you will leave.” Dorian didn’t turn away from Ekkage’s reptilian gaze.

“Hmph.” Ekkage’s eyes narrowed. “You are bold, just as Kardas said. There are not many who would take a Dark Councilor’s lover to task over a slave-turned- consort.”

He narrowed his eyes back. “I don’t care if he’s the Emperor himself. Calpurnia is my aunt, a member of my House, and a valued addition to my Family, and _he—”_ Dorian nodded to Retrost “—is not. There are a variety of reasons he would not normally be welcome at my table, my lord, and you are well aware of _all_ of them.”

Ekkage smiled, snakelike, her eyes sliding to the cheerful little girl at the far end of the table. Dorian picked up his fork.

“Construction continues apace, my lord – we’ve cleared the worst of the damage done by the invasion, and are on schedule to complete most of the public buildings by the end of this solar year.” He cut off a small morsel of meat, pulling if off his fork delicately.

“He’s under budget, too –” Felix interjected. “A side benefit of using his kids to clear rubble. Faster construction and free labor.”

“Hardly free,” Dorian said. “They’re paid for the work. How else does one get credits into the economy?”

“Weak. It should be free because they’re _slaves._ ”

“Slave labor is hardly free, Retrost.” Dorian pointed his fork at him. “Even if I weren’t an objector to the practice on general principle, slaves have to be fed, housed, policed, and – in one way or another – educated. It’s less expensive to employ my people at living wages and allows them the dignity of autonomy. A being that can act independently will do things you don’t expect, which often benefits everyone.”

Retrost stared at him, his presence in the Force flickering. Rage seemed to cycle with confusion and back, a rapid vacillation that ended on a deep, enduring wrath.

Lana and Saaraij both looked up, some childish game interrupted by the abiding cold emanating from Retrost.

“You okay?” asked Saaraij, her small face filled with concern.

“How can I be, with mongrels like you at the table?” he snapped. “And pale-hearted cowards like this, ruling?”

“Retrost.” The name dropped from Ekkage’s lips no louder than a heartbeat. “There’s no need for that.”

“He would not have me at his table? I’d rather not sup with him.”

“Return to my rooms. We’ll discuss your behavior later.”

“Daddy, what’s a mongrel?” Saaraij asked as Retrost pushed away from the table, stalking out of the room. She didn’t seem to be upset, merely confused.

“It’s someone of mixed blood,” Ekkage told her. “As you must be. True purebloods don’t have hair like yours.”

Saaraij frowned. “But lots of people have hair like mine, ‘cept Lana’s is prettier.”

“It’s hair that a human would have, child, meaning you are…”

“No more fucking different than the rest of us,” Lucian ground out. “My daughter is strong in the Force. That she has human ancestry of any kind is hardly unusual.”

Ekkage met his eyes and smiled. Lucian began to gasp, a high-pitched whistling sound emerging from his throat as he labored to breathe.

“Do not interrupt me, Lord Thalrassian. _Know your place._ ” She paused, turning her attention to Saaraij. “Where was I? Oh – of course. Despite the color of your skin, you’re little better than a street whore’s get. Were I your _father_ , I would have you spayed like the yappy little animal you are.” Her eyes turned to Calpurnia. “Disgusting, what the Thalrassian name has fallen to. Adopted mongrels and jumped up slaves?

“And you –” Ekkage turned her eyes on him. “You have the _temerity_ to dictate my comportment, at your table or anywhere? I am a member of the Dark Council and I answer to no one save the Emperor, himself!”

Lucian’s face darkened with blood as he sat, utterly still, but for the strained gasping.

“I will not apologize for demanding civility, my lord, from you or any other.”

“Will you not?” she asked. “Will you not get on your knees and beg me for the life in my hands?”

“All of our lives rest there, my lord. But even were that not true… well, _you’re_ the one who will be called to account for the death of _Darth Marr’s son_.”

The words dropped like stones, sending silent ripples through the room.

Then she laughed, her hold on Lucian disappearing.

“What would you have done, Dorian, if I’d killed him?”

“Held Calpurnia’s cloak as she executed you and took your seat on the Council,” he told her. “I’m not one to stand in the way of just revenge.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She picked up a fork, spearing a sliver of one of the native vegetables, eying it curiously before popping it into her mouth. “Delightful.”

The tension in the room dissipated, though not without angry and fearful currents.

“So am I a mongrel?” Saaraij asked.

“Yes,” said Calpurnia. “But you’ll find that we _mongrels_ tend to survive. Given a choice between being a mongrel and going extinct, I know which one _I’d_ choose.”

-0-

“What did you find?” Dorian asked Felix later that night, long after their guests and their ‘guests’ had been sorted out to sleep. He sat up in bed, back comfortably resting against the headboard as Felix fussed about, getting ready for bed. “Darth Ekkage isn’t here for me at all.”

Felix flopped down, shoving his face between his pillow and Dorian’s hip with an irritated groan. “Can we talk about it later?”

“Darling, you’ve barely been away from your dig site in the last month,” Dorian ran a hand through his husband’s hair, tugging gently. “Of course we can.”

Felix laughed, allowing himself to be pulled up for a kiss.

“Whatever shall we do, if I’m not confessing all to my lord and master?” Felix husked, breaking for air.

“An excellent question.” Dorian ran his nails down Felix’s chest, watching neat, pink weals rise on his husband’s skin. Felix shivered, moaning as Dorian plucked at a nipple. “What would you _like_ to do, my darling?”

“Forget,” Felix blurted out. Dorian paused, startled. “Just for tonight. We found something – something important, but right now? I don’t want to think about it.”

“Of course, love.” He cupped Felix’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along the gentle curve that framed brilliant, golden eyes. Felix’s lids fell and Dorian leaned in to kiss him, sweet and light. “Any preferences?”

“I want to feel you for days,” Felix murmured. “Have to escort her and her dog out to the temple, no idea how long that will take.”

“I can work with that.” He ran a hand down Felix’s side, nails digging _just_ this side of drawing blood, and Felix groaned in approval.

Later, as they lay sated and sweaty in the night, Felix whispered his findings into the darkness that cocooned them. Dorian silenced him with his mouth and hands, as desperate to lose the knowledge in Felix’s body as Felix had been to hide from it in Dorian’s.

It was almost enough to drown out the turbulent foreboding that paced restlessly around him.

Almost.

-0-

“Keep Krem notified,” Dorian murmured in his husband’s ear as they waited on the shuttlepad for Darth Ekkage’s personal craft to land. Then, louder, “The supply convoy will be leaving Tsian-tsin in two days, headed out for the Temple. You needn’t worry about ending up on short rations.”

Felix leaned into him, stealing a kiss. “You worry too much.”

“I think you’ll find that I generally worry just enough,” Dorian said dryly. “Your researchers work hard and play harder, so I’d much rather err on the side of you all having enough food and drink, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Felix grinned. “I’ll be careful, love.”

“Please,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking archaeologist, you don’t know the meaning of the word _careful._ ”

One of Ekkage’s bodyguards – _assassins_ – approached, with all the arrogance that the favored of a Dark Councilor were entitled to. She was a very pretty young human; tall, with ice-blue eyes and short-cropped silvery-white hair… exactly the kind of being Felix had once been in the habit of bedding and forgetting.

“Lord Felix, if you will follow me.”

“Of course!” Felix said cheerfully. “I’ll call you from camp, Dorian. I promise.”

“I’m all a-twitter with anticipation, I assure you.” He dropped a kiss on Felix’s cheek, before turning his eyes on Ekkage. She smirked at him before heading up the ramp into the shuttle. “Safe trip, beloved.”

Retrost watched him, blood-and-copper shining from beneath narrow-slit lids. Dorian held his gaze, calmly centering himself and eschewing the growing sense of wrongness that weighted the air. He expected Retrost to sneer, the faintly disgusted expression he’d come to associate with his mother’s former lover.

Instead there was nothing, just the narrow eyed look and stronger emotional shields than he’d ever known Retrost to use. Dorian turned away, watching Felix disappear into the shuttle.

“We’ve got men in his camp, you know this,” Krem said softly, approaching from behind.

“But none on her shuttle. Not that it matters. Darth Ekkage can do anything she likes to him and he has no recourse.”

“You don’t think she’ll harm him?” The last of Ekkage’s entourage entered the shuttle, Retrost taking up the rear and closing the hatch. Dorian threw up a minor shield to keep dust and debris from choking them as the shuttle took off.

“No.” They watched the shuttle lift, nose lifting as it rose, until it cleared low-flying airspace. The white-gold burn of the engines was near-blinding as the shuttle threw itself in a ballistic arc that would return Felix to the ruins of the ancient Sith temple in the equatorial jungles in a matter of hours instead of days. He rubbed his eyes. “Have we managed to find _anything_ on Retrost?”

“He’s left a couple of personal slaves with the cadre herself brought to ensure her comfort while in Tsian-tsin. One of them’s a mouthy little shit, but I’m not sure what else you’d expect from a cathar.”

“You like him.”

“Damned right,” said Krem. “Pretty sure the kid’s an illegal import. Maybe the little zabrak, too. Skinner and Dalish are gonna see if they can get enough information to prove it. Strangely the local courts take a dim view on slavery, and if we can get them offworld to Taekhren or Jobzhal –”

Dorian snorted. “The proof is supposed to what, _vod_? Keep Ekkage from _killing_ you?”

“Eh. You only live once. Grim wants to see if we can grab her slaves, too.”

“You’re insane.”

“We’ve got to do something,” said Krem. “Seriously, that little bastard Retrost left behind has to be new to that shock collar, because he doesn’t seem to realize it’s a standard model anyone could discipline him with.”

“Hmmm.” Dorian turned, looking at the empty shuttlepad. “Why’d they leave slaves behind, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“’To keep her rooms to her satisfaction, so she may have a satisfying return from the wilderness.’” Krem quoted. “More likely, they’re supposed to spy. Skinner’s got people keeping tabs on them. We’re pretty sure that it didn’t even occur to Ekkage that S’keth’s slave population isn’t really large enough for them to slip into unnoticed.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” Dorian shot a glance at Krem.

“Seriously, boss. You’re dancing like a k’lor slug in a lava pit. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Dorian began walking toward the Governance Center. “Concerns, on top of worries, on top of vague trepidations. New information that makes me wonder things I hadn’t considered.”

“Like?”

“Could we effect a planetary evacuation, if we needed to?”

Krem missed his next step, stumbling into Dorian’s side. “The fuck?”

“It’s mostly hypothetical, but Felix found evidence of a kind of… global cataclysm, something that potentially could recur, and I don’t know that we’ve the means to combat it.”

“Dorian.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing – but it makes me wonder. Our wars with the Republic have resulted in atrocities. The Republic likes to pretend its hands are clean, but they’re as bloody and ruthless as any of us.” He stopped at the door. “S’keth is my responsibility. I _know_ what the Republic is willing to do to a population they see as being ruled by a Sith.”

“S’keth isn’t Adaarani, Dorian. You’re being needlessly paranoid.”

“Am I?” He saw the guards staring at them curiously and flushed. “Ah – yes. We should take this to my office I think.”

They went inside, passing through the small horde of S’kethi – human and non-human alike – that dealt with the day-to-day minutia of running the government.

“Milord!” called a harried voice. “We’ve had a small problem with the comsats.”

“Dalgan! Good morning, I take it you’re here to ruin my day?”

“I see no reason not to share the joy, milord. I’ve been up since before dawn.” His Lieutenant Governor, Dalgan, was a large zabrak woman of indeterminate age who enjoyed baking when she wasn’t breaking bones. “Lord Krem.”

“I keep telling you –” said Krem.

“Irrelevant,” she snapped. “You’re sith and will be respected as such, regardless of your wishes. As I was saying, one of the comsats is down, and has been since approximately four hours before dawn. We _think_ it was an asteroid hit, but haven’t been able to get a shuttle up to take a look.”

“Isn’t it disrespectful to ignore what I want?”

She raised an eyebrow at Krem.

“Right,” said Dorian. “Moving on. Why haven’t we been able to get a shuttle up?”

“Fleet maintenance,” she said.

“It’s ridiculous to call two shuttles a fleet,” said Krem.

“Someday we’ll have more than two – we’ll have to, once the orbital station is actually built.”

“Yes, yes. Expanding the spaceport is next on the public works agenda, you know that. And I’m working on wheedling the funds for an orbital station. It’s the eternal conundrum – we don’t have the traffic or population for a full-scale orbital port, but we won’t have either until we have it.” Dorian gave a delicate little sniff in disgust, and Dalgan gave a rueful little laugh. “What is it that you need me for, my dear?”

“We’ve got techs on loan from the battle group, but we wanted to get things done as fast as possible, so we allowed them to take them both offline at once. Soonest done, soonest ended, we thought. Both real-space drives are in pieces, I’m told.”

“Naturally,” said Dorian. “They’re due for a recalibration of the primary nav crystals, if I recall?”

Dalgan nodded. “One reason for doing them both at the same time – it could be done at the same time.”

Krem groaned. “That’ll take a week. Any chance of getting one of them up and running, at all?”

“The _Angleraat-_ class shuttle won’t operate without primaries in place, even if the secondary nav-structure is functioning,” said Dorian, “and if they’ve begun the resonance tuning, the crystals can’t be moved. I put in a requisition for backups eight months ago…”

“But with the war on, redundancies for civilian outposts isn’t a priority,” Krem finished for him, since Dorian _had_ ranted about it with some frequency.

“It’s good news/bad news. The crystals went into tuning yesterday, so they’ll be done inside the 10-day. The bad news is, they went into tuning yesterday, so…” Dalgan trailed off. “However, the _Stormchaser_ is about three days out. _They_ could send a shuttle to get a look at the satellite.”

Dorian grimaced. “What about private shuttles?”

Daglan raised an eyebrow, a small, sardonic smile lifting her lips. Dorian sighed. S’keth wasn’t Dromund Kaas, with a wealthy élite that sported vast estates in the jungle with private shuttleports. Even before Angral’s invasion, it had been a small colony that had only just begun to graduate from self-sustaining to having offerings to export.

“Right,” he said, taking the datapad she held out. Dorian signed the order, adding a notation to ensure that they sent not only an engineer, but one well versed in null-gravity work.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” Dorian paused. “How big a hole in communications coverage are we looking at? We have… an important guest on-world, and we may need to institute greater security measures.”

She looked apologetic.

“Currently there’s a communications shadow that encompasses everything north of the Tsien-azik river. It’s not quite a blackout – there’s only a handful of spots where we can’t see, but the redundancies in coverage aren’t quite as good as we thought they would be.”

Dorian scowled. “Right. Dreadfully inconvenient.”

“My lord, even before… before the invasion, this might have happened – we only had the one shuttle before.” Dalgan flushed. “That’s why it didn’t seem like it could be a problem.”

“Ah, well.” Dorian sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “We live and we learn. Clearly this is an oversight in coverage that will need to be addressed as soon as practically possible. I’ll make a note to bring it up at Weekly Plan – if nothing else, we’ve a bit of a slush fund, since construction has come in under budget. Perhaps throwing money at the problem will work.”

“What about the emergency towers?” asked Krem, rolling his eyes at Dorian.

“I thought you’d ask,” said Dalgan. “Emergency towers all ping normal, since they rely on reflection off the ionosphere and don’t involve the commsats at all. Space and void forbid that we need to, but _that_ system is fine.”

“Good. Was there anything else?”

“Well… what are you bringing to Weekly Plan? My wife wants to know, because she’s got a recipe for _gohosh_ stew that would go really well with those spicy rolls you had at the last meeting.”

“Now, now, that would be telling. You know the rules – as long as we respect the known allergens and violent dislikes, it’s supposed to be a surprise.” Dorian waggled his brows. “But I will see to it you get the recipe for the rolls.”

“Not sure how you’re planning to do that, since you don’t know it.”

Dorian looked at the smirking Krem.

“But I’ll get it for you ma’am. It’ll be my pleasure.”

Dalgan flushed, smiling. “I’m hardly a ma’am.”

“Well, I’m hardly a lord, so we’re well matched there.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Speaking of the planning meeting, I’ll make sure I get the agenda out by end-of-day. That way we can make sure there are enough bloody snacks this week.”

“I’m sure we’ll all appreciate it, milord. I’ll get in touch with _Stormchaser._ Bannerly thinks we can probably rig the emergency towers to give us a rudimentary sensor net and basic comms out to the Temple by nightfall.”

“That would be nice, since Felix just left to return there. In theory we _could_ ask Darth Ekkage for use of her shuttle…”

Dalgan’s eyes widened. “Let’s not and say we didn’t even think that, shall we?”

“Probably wise, really.”

She waved him off. Dorian and Krem headed toward his office – a small, windowless room filled with racks of datapads and communication equipment. Stark white walls stared down at the utilitarian durasteel desk, their unadorned expanse sitting in cold judgement.

“I still don’t know how you can work here,” said Krem, flopping down into one of the uncomfortable desk chairs.

“You suggested it. It’s arguably one of the safest and most defensible spots in the building.”

“I know that,” Krem leaned back in his chair. “But I didn’t mean you should work in a barren hellhole.”

Dorian shrugged. “It encourages me to get my work done – and keeps people from visiting me all that often. It’s strange how many of them prefer to bring me solutions instead of problems if it means less time in here.”

“I can see why.” Krem pulled out a datapad. “Bull says he’s got the family wrangled. Lucian will be taking them to the Memorial to pay their respects to the S’kethi dead. They’re not making a show of it, but Stitches has already leaked it to the local media. They won’t be mobbed, but I don’t doubt it’ll go viral.”

Dorian pursed his lips, thinking.

“He’s taking everyone?”

“Cariade’s apparently on Saara-wrangling.”

“That seems a bit obvious as a publicity stunt,” said Dorian.

“Bull thinks it’ll work in your favor.” Krem, scrolled through data, eyes flickering. “You hired us to work your personal security, Dorian. A lot of S’kethi can’t really trust that you’re what you say. You’re a _Sith_. They’ve got generations of Republic propaganda that says that Sith don’t tolerate non-humans. You’ve done a lot of work, out in public, making tangible amends for Angral’s bombardment, but you’re _still_ a Sith who rules over them without much in the way of their consent.”

Which both was and wasn’t true – S’keth hadn’t had a democratic system of governance before Angral’s wasteful fit of temper, and Dorian couldn’t just wave a hand and say ‘elect someone.’ He had, however, created an advisory body to give him S’kethi perspectives, which _did_ consist of a mix of appointees and elected figures.

“Is there a tangible threat I don’t know about?”

“Not exactly.” Krem looked up. “There’s rumors of something. There’s always rumors of something. A lot of S’kethi like _you_ but they aren’t sold on the Empire, and who can blame them? Introducing yourself by dropping rocks from the sky isn’t a good way to endear yourself. It means that they find it hard to believe that a Sith is anything other than what they’ve been told. So… maybe we thought it might be good to show that it’s not just you.”

Dorian glared at him. “And no one thought I should be involved in this planning?”

“You’re remarkably resistant to suggestion.” Krem pointed the datapad at him. “Also, Cariade was at the Academy, and he’s quite insistent on being in on this kind of thing. Something about a young sith fighting his way through Jedi and monsters and what-all to save the lives of a bunch of alien children.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve told him – I’ve told them all – that it was my honor to serve. They don’t owe me anything for that. If anything we owe that hapless padawan who helped us get to the ship.”

“Hush,” said Krem. “No one wants to hear about your crush on the blond Padawan – who isn’t anymore, by the way.”

“What, blond?”

“A Padawan.” Krem looked up. “At least, that’s what Bull said. He’s got some contacts in the clans in Republic space. There was some kind of kerfluffle over one of the ‘Heroes of Alderaan’ being ejected from the Order, and we all know that it _wasn’t_ Satele Shan.”

Dorian smiled sourly. For all that he’d been instrumental in ensuring Darth Malgus’ survival, not to mention the largest contingent of Imperial soldiers, he’d endured a lot of judgement on the issue of not killing the Jedi he’d encountered, leading to a Republic morale boost that the Council had decried.

Dorian thought it hardly mattered – the Republic had freed the damn planet. A single Jedi, more or less, wasn’t all that relevant in the scheme of things.

“And you know this why?”

“Celebrity gossip and scurrilous rumor that they thought might be interesting to us, since you’re so damn interested in Jedi.” Krem shook his head. “I’m not really sure. Bull brought the data-dump with him. He hasn’t had a chance to go through it all and thought you might like a look.”

“Sounds fun, for certain values of ‘I’d likely prefer to have my toenails dissolved down to the bone using acid,’” Dorian told him jovially. “We’ll make a date of it this evening, after the kids have gone to bed. Lucian and Calpurnia can help.”

“Asshole.”

Dorian pointed to himself. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m Sith. It’s part of my employment contract.”

Krem laughed, rising. “Grim’s on the door. Do you want to meet you _aliit_ at the memorial?”

“I suppose so.” Dorian gave a great, put upon sigh. “It’s such a burden to go outside, enjoy the sunlight and all.”

“I’m sure you’ll suffer horribly.”

“Out!” Dorian pointed at the door. “I have work to do.”

“I’m going, I’m going!”

-0-

Dorian spent the next several hours hammering out proposed trade agreements between S’keth and Taekhren, and more importantly, between Taekhren and the Empire as a whole. The Taekhren-ai were understandably leery of doing trade with the Empire. Though they had a human population, the native species were a largely non-humanoid avian species. There was something disconcerting about being face to beak, as it were, with a be-tentacled, winged prolate spheroid, though Dorian found he rather enjoyed their company.

Who knew that brightly plumed, flying tentacle monsters could have humor as wickedly biting as their beaks? Or that they would make some of the sweetest fortified alcoholic beverages anywhere in known space? He queued the agreements for transmission to Darth Vowrawn for review, but he didn’t think the council member would find much to complain about.

Satisfied that he’d done a good day’s work, Dorian stood. Grim poked his head in.

“Memorial?”

“Are they there yet?”

Grim shook his head. “Waiting on you. Speeder or foot?”

“I’d like to walk, I think – unless the weather has gone off since I came in.”

Grim grunted.

“And Felix should be calling soon.”

“No phone sex.”

“Darling, you wound me!” Dorian posed dramatically, placing his hands over his heart. “There’s not nearly enough time to talk Felix into an orgasm between here and the park, even if I were to start this very moment.”

“Overshare.”

They walked through the offices toward the stairs. “Not if you think I’d even _consider_ spending so little time getting my husband off,” Dorian sniffed.

_“Di’kut.”_

“That’s a lie. I’m wearing pants. At least I think I’m wearing pants.” Dorian made a show of looking down at his legs and then checking inside the fabric encasing them. “Yes, pants and other pants. I managed to dress myself, inside pants, outside pants and all.”

Grim huffed, eyes crinkling.

“Milord, I still haven’t gotten the agenda for Weekly Plan!” Dalgan sing-songed.

“I’m going to the Memorial with my family,” Dorian called back. “I’ll get it out as soon as I get back!”

“See that you do!”

Dorian chuckled and trotted down the stairs, taking two at a time with a light step. Something Dark and heavy lingered at the edge of his awareness, an irritating sense of wrongness that refused to be pinpointed, but he refused to let it get him down. Lucian was the closest thing he had to a father, and Dorian wanted to show him what he’d accomplished.

It was, in his opinion, a little disgusting how much he wanted Lucian’s approval, for all that his Uncle was technically the Head of his Family. But the desire was what it was, and Dorian had been doing good work here. Satisfying work. He could see remaining here and building a life around what he’d accomplished on S’keth, and _damn_ the war.

It was a pleasant day for a walk. The sun had passed zenith and gamboled slowly westward. Bright yellow flowers bloomed on the _araja_ -fruit trees that the original settlers had planted along the boulevard, their sweet scent mingling with the spicy fragrance of the native grasses. Fresh coats of paint shone bright and colorful on plascrete walls, and he could hear the excited barking of domesticated canids mingling with childish giggles.

They rounded a corner to find Lucian and Calpurnia leaning on one another, laughing uproariously, as Saaraij sat on Cariade’s chest, her little face fierce as she tickled him. The young cathar seemed to be held in place by Saaraij’s rather wobbly control of the Force, backed by Lana’s sly refinement, as she stood by, ostensibly innocent. Twin canids played chase, pursuing one another and haphazardly thrown sticks.

Dorian looked at Grim, who actually _smiled_ at the sight.

“Be careful, your face might crack,” he teased, gliding up behind Lana and tossing her up with the Force. She shrieked and then laughed as she fell into the Force’s cushioned grasp.

“Again!”

“As you wish, milord,” he said, lobbing her back upward.

Saaraij retreated from her attack on Cariade as Lana went flying, her eyes going huge and round. Cariade sat up, cradling the girl in his lap as they watched Lana tumble through the air, squealing with delighted laughter. Saaraij poked her brother in the chin.

“Me, too! Me, too, Cari!”

Cariade chortled, tossing her high.

“Good to see you,” said Lucian. “You’ve done an amazing job here.”

Dorian glowed with pleasure. Calpurnia actually pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

He chanced a glance down at her, trusting the Force to keep Lana safe as she flew.

“Whatever for?”

“There are so few slaves,” she said into his shoulder. “And some of the owners here have begun freeing them. My people – many of the non-humans – they feel _safe_ with you.”

He felt wetness on his shoulder.

“Are you _crying?”_

She pulled away with a small laugh, wiping her eyes. “Of course not, you brute. What kind of Sith do you take me for?”

“A lovely one with pollen in her eyes,” said Dorian. “I should never have brought your attention to it.”

“Ass.” She smacked his arm. “Time to come down – we’ve an offering to make.”

Lana and Saaraij groaned as they were lowered to the ground.

“Dorian!” Saaraij ran over to him, arms raised high. “Your city is pretty! All the colors an’ shapes! Can we live here daddy? Is prettier than home.”

Lucian looked like he’d been hit in the solar plexus with an electrostaff, blinking down at Saaraij. Dorian knelt.

“But if you lived here, you wouldn’t get to explore Qarinus, and learn all those things your teachers have to show you about being sith,” Dorian told her, gathering the imperious little girl in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he stood. Lucian came over to take her, and Dorian scowled at him.

“Mine,” he said, in his best Saaraij impersonation, making her giggle.

“DORIAN!”

The amorphous sense of danger that had lingered all day suddenly peaked with Krem’s shout. He began to turn as something hot blazed across his ear. Something sharp struck him in the cheek, with hot, thick gobs of red-black blood and thicker matter spattering over his face.

Lucian fell, his skull an exploded ruin.

Cariade leaped, violet energy flaring to life one moment too late to keep a fist-sized hole from appearing in his chest.

Saaraij _screamed_ and for a moment

time

just

stopped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qyâsik -- (sith) The Force
> 
> Ekkage - pronounced EK-age, like wreckage without the 'wr'.


	8. Dorian: S'keth, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They didn’t make him a Darth for his people skills,” said Calpurnia, eyes darkly probing. “He will do what must be done – as will we all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Referenced character death, implied character death, biological warfare

Saaraij kept screaming, and Calpurnia ripped her from his arms, violent, violet-black light surrounding her and expanding outward to encompass the children. Bull appeared from nowhere, throwing a portable shield generator to the ground and bringing it to life with a single, efficient move.

The emergency alarms began to wail as something moved, inexorably, to shadow the sun.

“He’s _jetii_ ,” Krem said, skidding to a halt beside Dorian. “You were right. Retrost – he’s a Jedi spy.”

“Is he?” Dorian asked mildly, through Saaraij’s anguished wailing. His sister’s pain etched itself into his bones, reverberating so hard in the Force he had no doubt that everyone on the planet could feel it. “And he’s off in the jungle, with my husband and Darth Ekkage.”

“Dorian?” asked Krem.

“He left two ‘slaves’. I want them found.” He looked up, into the darkening sky, and turned to Bull. “Get them off the streets – there are bombardment shelters on every other block.”

Dorian could hear sirens wailing, the children crying – Saaraij, void help him, _Sarraij_ – screaming her heart into stillness.

“You must get to safety,” he told Calpurnia, wiping blood and bone from her and Saaraij’s cheeks. “They’re coming, and they will show you no mercy.”

“I will _fight_.” Calpurnia hissed.

“You will _live_ , damn you!” Dorian roared back. “Get the children to safety –”

There was a flare of heat and light, and blocks away the Governance Building burst into plasma and rubble. Air whipped violently past, pulled upward by the heat of the targeted blast, and the emergency alarms shrieked.

“Skinner – Dalish!” Krem’s shout was distant. Everything was distant. The corpses piling in his mind lay strewn about a vast and empty whiteness, and he felt _nothing._

There was a film crew near the edge of the park, the newsbeing showing great presence of mind as she spoke rapidly into her microphone. Dorian approved, clinically, as he approached.

“Excuse me, my dear,” he said, gently pulling the microphone from the startled weequay’s hand. “One hopes you all recognize me. If not, well, I’m Dorian Thalrassian – Imperial Appointed Governor of S’keth. This is not a drill. All citizens are directed to go to the nearest orbital bombardment shelter. The Governance Building has been destroyed by targeted orbital strike, but I am still here, and will do what I can to defend S’keth and all we have built in the past year. I repeat: This is not a drill. All citizens are directed to go to their nearest orbital bombardment shelter.”

Another flash of heat and light, turning the rudimentary spaceport to rubble.

“Do you know how to upload this to the emergency system?” he asked, handing the microphone back.

“Milord – what’s happening?”

“The Republic appears to be invading,” Dorian told her mildly. “On top of playing assassin, though I cannot imagine why they felt the need to murder an archaeologist.”

“You seem remarkably calm.”

“Do I?” He looked at her from the empty center of light, delicately holding the sinewy restraints that held the unspeakable chaos he wanted to unleash. “I’ve a job to do, for you, my people, and for myself and family.”

People were already flooding the streets, heading in a reasonably orderly fashion to the bombardment shelters that had been the first, great project that he’d authorized.

“I have a job to do,” he said again. “And so do you.”

She and her cameraman scurried off and Dorian felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Krem’s got Calpurnia and the kids. Said he knew where to take them.”

“Good,” said Dorian.

“We failed, boss. Me and the _Kad-an._ We failed.”

“Yes. But that’s hardly the issue at the moment,” Dorian dismissed. Bull’s hand tightened. “Do you want me to flay you? Boil your skin from your muscles? Rend the remaining flesh from bone? I can to that if you wish, but not. Just. Yet.” He pointed to the sky. “They will not stop at orbital bombardment – they have some kind of target on-world. S’keth has nothing the Republic wants or needs for its war effort, which is why they did so little to defend it in the first place.”

Another horrific lance of light came down, obliterating the war monument in a flash of plasma and fire. Bull and Dorian were knocked across the ped-lanes and into a building in the resulting fountain of air.

“Someone’s lasing the targets!” Bull shouted over the din of wind and screams.

“No doubt,” Dorian, not bothering with the extra volume. The ped-path map of Tsian-tsin bloomed in his mind and Dorian closed his eyes, overlaying the Force. He needed somewhere with sightlines—

“Of course,” he murmured. “CommOne, the main tower.”

“What was that, boss?”

The tower pulsed in his mind, a single, bright point in a rising cacophony of Darkness. What a strange and bitter irony, he thought, that such a brilliant point would cast such deep and bitter shadows. Fear, confusion, pain – and anger. Deep, abiding _rage._ They’d come so far, so fast, and someone _dared_ to attack them again? Already he could feel fights breaking out, Darkness sparking Darkness.

Dorian began to move, gathering the dark energies that surged as each lance bore down upon the city.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, boss?”

Dorian said nothing, only picking up speed as he began to run toward CommOne. He heard Bull give an irritated bellow as he followed. He ran, emptying himself of everything. Shock, grief, fear – they had no place. Just him, his goal, and control of the swirling Dark. It chafed at the restraints he put on it, wanting to crush, to destroy, to rend.

_Soon enough_ , he told the restive Force.

_Move_ , it replied, and he ducked into an archway. A hole the size of his fist appeared in the plascrete, with no accompanying flash of plasma.

“Slug thrower,” said Bull, disgusted. “Standard security sweep wouldn’t have caught it. Ain’t a lot of people who use something so primitive.”

“It’s not as though Security had a chance.”

“No, not if it’s Retrost’s slaves.”

“Give the Bull a prize.” Dorian grabbed Bull’s hand and strengthened his shield against projectiles. “Let’s go.”

They ran down the ped-path and to the front door of Commsat One. The door stood open, the staff having had the sense to flee once the bombardment began. It was a pity, Dorian thought, that they hadn’t realized that they were probably in the safest place in Tsian-tsin. The warship overhead was unlikely to destroy the building where their little spies hid.

At least, not yet.

As he and Bull charged up the stairs, Dorian wondered if Retrost’s little saboteurs understood how likely it was that the orbital bombardment would take _them_ , too, or if they’d come knowing it was a suicide run. The door to the tower’s roof was held shut by the Force.

Dorian let the reins on his Darkness slip, blasting it to pieces without thought.

“Fuck’s sake, they’re just kids,” Bull breathed. A bright green lightsaber ignited in the hands of a green-skinned boy, no older, Dorian thought, than perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Behind him stood a young cathar, perhaps Cariade’s age.

Dorian stared at them. He should have felt something, looking into hate-filled green eyes, so very like the child he’d once rescued from a murderous Jedi, but there was nothing. Just a vast and aching emptiness.

“I suggest you come with us,” he said simply.

The boy with the lightsaber blinked.

“They’re targeting the building, you see.” He looked at the boy. “You can feel it, can you not? The rising pressure in the Force that tells you to flee?”

“That’s you,” the young Jedi disagreed. “They wouldn’t target us. They’ll come for us.”

“Don’t listen to ’em. He’s a Sith.”

“And you’re a murderer, boy,” said Bull to the cathar, who stared back defiant. “You ain’t got no moral high ground. Dorian, you sure about the bombardment?”

“The boy isn’t lasing the next target,” Dorian said, hollow, as he stared out over the city. “They’re acceptable losses, especially if martyred.”

“The Republic would never abandon us,” said the cathar, “just as they haven’t abandoned the S’kethi. We’ll free them from your tyranny, Sith!”

“By murdering hundreds of civilians? How does that even work?” Green flashed as the boy-Jedi attacked.

“Mark the next target!” he shouted. “I’ll hold them off!”

Dorian rolled his eyes and Force-shoved the boy into his partner with bone-cracking force. “I can’t be bothered with fighting you. There’s no time.”

He grabbed the young men with the Force and looked at Bull. “Over the side?”

“Over the side,” Bull agreed.

-0-

“Why didn’t you kill them?” Calpurnia demanded, holding Saaraij on one hip. Saaraij had been cleaned up, but still cried quietly, faced buried in Calpurnia’s shoulder. They stood in the command bunker that had been built for the underground network designed to protect the S’kethi from orbital bombardment.

“Because it would end too soon,” Dorian said, dispassionate. “Neither one considered that they might come face to face with their victims.

Calpurnia considered him narrowly. “The Jedi can barely look at you. You’re glowing Dorian. _Golden-white_. You need to stop.”

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like,” he asked, just loudly enough to be heard by his captives. “To touch the heart of Light? It’s very peaceful. No emotional clutter, all the emotion pushed away. It’s so easy to see what I need to do. No kindness, no compassion, no needs. Just goals.”

Calpurnia’s eyes widened. “ _Jviete’dresuoti._ ”

“The Light isn’t like that,” Retrost’s pet Jedi, a padawan so different from the human youth who’d fought with him on Adaarani, protested from where he sat, drugged to the gills on a Force inhibitor.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.” Dorian quoted indifferently. Darkness raged around him, tempered by his will. “And it is nothing like what you imagine.”

_“It’s not like that.”_

“Shut up, you _murdering hypocrite_ ,” snarled Calpurnia, causing the boy to flinch back. “Dorian –”

“ _Maalzjin’senthru,_ ” Dorian intoned and she stopped. “ _Nu valianie daritis_ ardyti’netvarka. _Nu valianie. Nu valianie!_ ”

Emotion threatened to overcome his peaceful equilibrium. Small arms wrapped around his waist.

“Stay there,” whispered Lana, looking up at him with shadowed golden eyes. “It’s not yet time. We’ll feel enough for you.” Her eyes unfocused. “He’s calling.”

“Dorian!”

Lana released his leg, her large, tip-tilted golden eyes glowing with power. “Go.”

Krem broke through the door. “Dorian! It’s Felix, he’s gotten though on the emergency net – you must come.”

He looked at Calpurnia. “Don’t harm them. We’ve a need for messengers.”

Dorian left his prisoners with Calpurnia and Bull, following Krem at a jog. “Is he alright?”

Krem just shook his head, leading him in to the half-useless com center.

“Dor- _hiss_ -n, plea— _zzzhshp.”_

“Felix?”

“— _bzzthpt-_ rost is - _sss_ -di spy. Guard turn— _zzzkkkpt_ —tor. Fuck.” For a moment the buzzing and hissing intensified before clearing. “Fuck, fucking, fuck fuck.”

“Well that came through pretty clearly,” said Krem, the humor in his voice given lie by the fear in his eyes.

“Good,” there was the sound of coughing and the video feed wavered. Felix flickered into view, his Reclamation Service uniform showing clear signs of lightsaber combat. A distant part of Dorian howled, shrieking into the storm he barely kept at by. Felix’s eyes looked out. “You need to record this.”

“Felix.” His husband’s name tasted of void and ash. Krem flipped a switch.

“Recording.”

“This…” Felix choked and coughed. “This is likely the last report I’ll be making and it needs to go directly to the Council. First, let it be known that the Sith Lord known as Retrost is a Jedi deep-cover spy. I don’t know how it was done, but he turned at least one of Darth Ekkage’s core assassins.” He took a shallow, spiky breath. “Retrost took advantage of the fact the Darth Ekkage was here to visit a remote temple dig site in order to ca-,“ he coughed, “capture a member of the Dark Council and her elite guard.”

“He’s a Jedi Master,” said Krem. “Named Nomen Karr. We found his face in a datadump from mando’ade in Republic space.”

“Yes,” the word turned into a hiss as Felix shifted. “So he said when he turned against us. Said how pleased he was to finally finish his assignment. Said he was tired of pandering to Sith whores for information.” Felix chuckled, a sad little thing. “Not much of a Jedi for a Jedi, in my opinion.”

“No,” said Dorian, the clear, cold space around him beginning to crack. “Not much of one at all.”

“Team on the ground was already… dead, or captured,” Felix rasped. “Jedi special forces, I think. Couldn’t get a comm out. Satellite down. He told us sabotage. That there’s a battle group in orbit on the other side of the sun.” Felix shuddered, wracked by violent coughing. “Have to admit it was clever. We’ve had no reason for us to think a raid was likely – _Stormtide_ and the _Kad-an_ are out fighting pirates, slavers… the front’s far away and the Republic never fought for S’keth in the first place.”

“We’ll come and get you,” said Dorian.

“No.” Felix said it flatly. “Retrost knew _why_ Ekkage, was here Dorian. They sabotaged the containment units – the ones we were carefully leaving alone. The only thing they didn’t do was mess with the computers, not even the ones in camp.”

“No.” Denial shredded the cold, white emptiness

“You have to get as many people off planet as you can, Dorian. It’s too late for me, I’m already infected.”

Dorian’s control broke, and he _howled_ , causing the very walls to shake.

Krem stumbled, clapping hands over his ears, even though Dorian’s rage was channeled far more into the Force than into sound.

“Felix?”

“Rackghoul plague, or a form of it,” Felix smiled, a little wistfully, before coughing again. “Darth Astros was working on some form of inoculation – wanted to find a way to protect troops if the virus was weaponized, to protect new settlers if it was used to clear a planet.”

“Retrost released _that_?”

“Said a world that bent over for a Sith, should learn what it truly meant to be fucked by them. That they deserved…” Felix gasped “…deserved what they get. Dorian. My notes, you’ve got to…”

“They’re gone,” said Krem. “There’s a republic warship in orbit. It was making targeted strikes on the city.”

“Our home, the space port,” Dorian seethed. “The _hospital_.”

Felix coughed again. “Of course. Foolish, short sighted _Republic._ Seeds of a cure and they _destroy it_. They didn’t… they didn’t harm the computers, I don’t think. I’ll see what I can recover.”

“Felix.”

“This, this is what I do.” His husband stared at him with feverish eyes. “Force users… we’re resistant, Dorian. Not… not immune. It’ll be a while before I succumb. I’ll do what I can.”

The holo flicked out of existence.

“Dorian!” Bull’s bellow took him by surprise. “Troop dropships are coming down.”

“Are there?” Ice pulsed behind his heart, overwhelming everything once again. He stared at Bull, through him, seeing the shape of Retrost’s plan written in blood in the barren white. “And they call _us_ monsters. He’s _providing a vector._ ”

Dorian felt Krem shudder more than saw it.

“We have to stop them.”

“Yes.” He walked out of the room, back to Calpurnia and their ‘guests.’ “Sith, I require your Service to the Empire.”

Calpurnia whirled, the arm holding Saaraij tightening. “Darth Teizibe, it is my honor to serve. What is needed?”

“It is conclusively revealed that Darth Ekkage’s lover is a Jedi – he has engineered her capture near the Temple that Lord Felix was excavating. He and his men have murdered the scientists there and, in a crime against all sentients, deliberately sabotaged ancient, but functioning biological containment equipment.”

“What did he release, boss?”

“Rackghoul plague,” said Krem, emotionless.

“My master would never do that! It must have been _you!_ It had to have been the _Sith!_ ” shouted the green-skinned padawan, while the cathar boy growled. “You were the ones intending to use it as a bioweapon! You had to be stopped!”

“Ah.” Dorian studied the boy. “Is that what he told you? That _archaeologists_ were creating bioweapons in an ancient temple that’s been deserted for a thousand years and more?”

“You lie.”

“I don’t have the time to bother,” said Dorian, distant and cold. “And you’re hardly worth the effort.” He looked at Bull. “Since Master Karr and the Republic are being so kind as to provide transports, we’re going to take them.”

“What about the troops, boss?”

“Calpurnia and whichever of my students that are willing, will hold them away from the populace, while we take their ship. There are soldiers on-world, who were helping with the building. We’ll have to make a raid on the barracks and armory, if they’re still standing. We will, however, only be taking volunteers.”

“What do you think you can do with drop-ships?” the cathar mocked.

“Arrange to evacuate as many of my people as I can.” Dorian offered a hollow smile. “I’m a generous man. Since they are so eager to occupy this world, the troops are welcome to stay.”

“You can’t do that!” The padawan stared at him, breath starting churn out in little gasps. “They’ll all be infected! Master said… This – this isn’t right, this isn’t what was supposed to happen.”

“Poor, disposable Padawan,” Dorian tsked. “ _So_ gullible. When arranging for a war crime to outrage the masses, what better sacrifice could there possibly be?”

“He wouldn’t do that!”

“Are you _damaged?”_ Krem demanded. “That fucker is as dark as they come.”

“He’s not!” yelled the Padawan. “It’s an act. It’s not real. It’s not _real._ _Master Karr is a good man!_ ”

“Lie.” The voice was small, barely a whisper, but it silenced the room. Saaraij squirmed in Calpurnia’s arms, writhing until the twi’lek put her down. Small, bare feet padded over cold metal until the tow-headed child stood in front of the prisoners. “You killed daddy.”

The padawan paled and the Cathar snarled.

“Not on purpose.”

Electrum eyes glowed. “I know. _Meant_ to kill my Dor’an. _Meant_ to kill me, not my Cari.”

“What, no!” the padawan all but sobbed. “No. No, no, no, no!”

“LIE.” Saaraij growled, darkness beginning to coil in wisps around her feet, but her eyes shimmered with golden light. “Mean man – called me _mongrel_ , hate my eyes, my hair, me. He tell soldier – must die. Girl is thing: _wrong_ , _poisoned, corrupted._ ‘Kill it, the other’s if you can.’” Her voice deepened, Retrost’s voice overlaid with smoothed vowels and rolling tones of the Republic. “It float in him, the sound, the order. Over and over and over. Jedi say, _it must die_ , and he obey. _It_ don’ matter. _It_ not kid. _It_ sith. _It_ die. Like bug. Like _mongrel_.”

The cathar lunged forward. “Shut up. _Shut up!_ ”

Saaraij pushed back with the Force, freezing him with exquisite control. “You _live,_ cathar-boy-man-soldier _._ You live. You _remember._ Dream, always _dream._ S’keth be _penance_.”

“Saaraij,” breathed Dorian.

“Future needs stupid cathar-boy-man-thing,” she said, unwavering. “Aric. Major. Someday. But _this_ he never forget.”

She turned and finally looked at the padawan, her whole body beginning to glow with a silver-dark light. “Jorgan. He never forget. _I_ never forgive. You… Timms. You. _Jetii…_ _murderer… hypocrite._ _Soldier_ know what he is, but you?”

“But I what?” said the padawan, a little hysterically.

“You… _coward. Jetii_ , they take memory, and you glad. _Jetii lie_. _Jetii forget_.” She began to float, voice echoing and seething, diction swelling, growing. The Force writhed around her in an unsteady storm. “You’ll swallow lies, bury memories. We’ll meet again. And you’ll learn, _hut'uun_ _jetii._ You’ll _pay_. _”_

“Saara! Stop!” Lana’s voice carried over the shivering echoes as she barreled into Saaraij, and the eerie light flickered out as the child fell in a dead weight atop her sister. “The Force is with her. The Force is _always_ with her.”

The cathar – Jorgan – fell to the ground, no longer held in place by Saaraij’s will. Lana’s gaze snapped with golden fire as the soldier sat up, cursing.

Lana’s tone was tender where the younger girl’s hadn’t been. “There is no use, Aric Jorgan – your mind screams with every breath. Your failed mission, to kill a child. You didn’t even mean to kill Father, though you’re glad you did. At least something went right.”

The cadence of Lana’s voice changed, becoming rough and clipped, echoing the cathar’s growling consonants, a child’s cadence eclipsed by a young soldier’s.

“She will not forget and neither will I.” Golden eyes glowed in her pale, pale face. “ _Maalzjin’senthru, sithas iv-sith._ ”

“Is she sure she’s, like, twelve?” asked Krem.

“Not convinced _darjetii-ike’s_ five right now,” Bull snorted.

_“Ta’Qyâsik kash su’ji, su’mus_. _Xisad su’mus. Xisad sithas iv-sith.”_

Lana crumpled to the floor, taking her burden with her.

 

“So what did she say?” asked Krem as Calpurnia and Bull gathered the girls up and hustled them out.

Dorian didn’t smile, only feeling the distant sensation that he normally would. “The Force is with her, with us. Always with us. Always the perfection of the Sith.”

“My lord!”

“Major Quinn.” Dorian turned. “It seems our enemy has come to us, in a rather ugly reversal of our last encounter.”

“Indeed my lord. Your _aliit_ has been busy, rounding us up.” Quinn stood at attention. “I heard about Skinner and Dalish, my lord, and am grieved to hear of their loss. They would be most useful right now.”

“As would Lord Thalrassian,” Dorian said, hollow. “Or Lord Cariade. But no matter. There will be time to grieve eventually.”

“Yes, my lord.” Quinn paused. “The situation is untenable, my lord. We should be able to hold the bombardment bunkers for a time – but…”

“The undercity is incomplete, as defense assumed an army that hasn’t yet been recruited or trained. It’s only been a year, after all. We assumed that pirate hunting would be on the agenda, though not that the entire group would be out, which, in retrospect, I should have considered.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Weapons?”

“We’ll have to get to the armories, my lord – they haven’t landed much by way of troops just yet – most of the ships seem to be landing further north.”

“Close to the temple, I imagine.” Dorian shared a grim look with Krem.

Karr’s Padawan knelt, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, moaning soft denials.

“If they’re intending to march on Tsian-tsin, it will take them several days to get here from there.”

“We must do what we can to prevent that,” said Dorian. “The Republic has released a variant upon the Rackghoul plague. They are intent enough upon their goal that they appear to be deliberately providing an infection vector.”

Quinn stared at him, paying no heed to the sobbing Padawan or the growls of the Cathar.

“I see, my lord. I will coordinate with your aliit and the troops we have on-world, and have a proposal ready for you in perhaps an hour?”

“As always, Quinn, your efficiency amazes. One hour, in communications.” Dorian looked down at the captives. “What to do with you, in the meantime.”

“You could execute them,” said Krem, tone like ice.

“No,” said Dorian. “Retrost – Karr, whatever you want to name him, intended to martyr these young men, and I do _so_ crave his disappointment.”

Dorian touched them with the Force, grim amusement flickering distantly as the Padawan at least, stiffened with the intent to resist. Jedi, so certain that the Force would be used to sway their petty _wills_. Why bother, when it was so much easier to simply brush the centers of the brain and alter chemistry directly. Both fell into deep slumber, conscious will subverted by the needs of their bodies.

“They are not to be harmed,” Dorian ordered softly. “No matter how much we’d like to see them broken for their crimes against us. They’re just _tools_.”

Krem growled at his side. “Tell me that we’re going to kill Retrost.”

The Force rang around him, a strange and sour note that throbbed, slow and aching, before softening to a strangely harmonious chime of far-distant bells.

“No.” Dorian looked out the door, where Calpurnia and Bull had taken the children. “It won’t be _us._ But it will be satisfying nonetheless.”

Krem nodded sharply. “Right. You know that we’re not going to be able to save everyone.”

“I’m not certain we can save _anyone_ ,” said Dorian. “Least of all ourselves.”

 

-0-

“My lord,” said Quinn. “I regret to inform you that the citizenry is becoming restless. The obvious bombardment has stopped, and there are many who would like to return to the surface to begin assessing damages.”

“I see,” said Dorian, not looking up from the datapads in his hands. Felix had risked another message via the emergency beacons, letting them know of the landing troops. His husband had shut down the power to everything above the lowest sublevels of the Temple, hoping to use the traps and defenses to keep himself safe while he tried to reconstruct the data.

“What shall we tell them?”

“The truth,” said Dorian absently. “It’s most unfortunate that we can’t get the sensor profile of the Republic’s ship, but it no matter. The best we can do is take it and remove as many of our citizens as we can.”

“My lord –“

Dorian looked up. “Objections?”

“There will be great unrest, my lord – we don’t know how many we’ll be able to take. There may be riots.”

“Yes, I imagine so.” The vast, white emptiness that surrounded Dorian became dotted with blood. Dorian considered the matter, watching threads of death and time weave and flutter. “Get Dainelle and Kiryze, if you would – I’ll begin the briefing once they’re here.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “As you will, my lord.”

Dorian set the datapad down with precise little movements, holding to clarity with all of his strength. Darkness surged around him, a storm instead of a companion, just waiting to be unleashed. He reached out, leeching as much of the fear, pain, and rage from his people as he could, calming tempers, yet adding to the ferocity of the tempest, narrowing the center calm by millimeters and armlengths, but retaining control.

_Soon_ , he told the storm. _Soon._

“You sent for us, my lord?” Dainelle was subdued, her usual anger dimmed with horror and a new, sparking focus.

“Indeed I did.” He lifted a hand, beckoning the young women forward. “As you may be aware, this isn’t exactly how I intended to spend my day.”

Kiryze snorted, her hands flying up to cover her mouth, even as semi-hysterical laughter shook her frame. Dainelle stared at her companion with a look of utter disgust. “Really?”

“It’s not exactly how anyone plans to spend their day, my lord.”

“It’s not?” Dorian affected a surprise and humor he could not feel, an illusion to set his students more at ease. “Don’t most people say when they get up, ‘And today will be the orbital bombardment and the release of Rackghoul plague, I’m excited to get out of bed for that!’”

Kiryze’s laughter stilled. “That’s not funny, my lord.”

“It’s not meant to be, my dear.”

“Hardly matters,” said Dainelle. “I don’t think his gubernatorialness could tell a joke right now if he wanted to. It takes emotions to do that, doesn’t it?”

“Well spotted.”

“It ain’t hard to see. _Something_ is drinking the Darkness, and it ain’t none of us.” Dainelle crossed her arms. “You’re too calm to be aught but batshit, really. Now what do you want?”

Dorian picked up the datapad and handed it over to her.

Dainelle’s eyes dropped down to it, brows rising as she made it through the first few pages of text.

“Bullshit,” she said. That… that just ain’t right, sith lord.”

“The Lieutenant Governor was killed in the initial blasts, along with the probable destruction of most of the governmental infrastructure, otherwise I would be handing power off to her.” He pushed away the pain of Dalgan’s loss, lest he start thinking of all else that was lost in the destruction. “But Dalgan is gone, and I fully intend to see to the evacuation of as many people as I can manage.”

Dainelle stared at him as Kiryze took the datapad out of her hands.

“Co-governorship?”

“However you want to split it up is up to you – but I will be taking troops to the surface shortly, in order to commandeer one of the troop transports. I fully intend to take the Republic ship that has done this, and fill it with as many people as I can.”

Dainelle snorted. “You want _us_ to choose.”

“I want the _S’kekthi_ , to choose.”

“You expecting us to save your family at the expense of our own people?”

“No,” said Dorian. “With the exception of the youngest, they’ll be allowed to make their own choices. They’re all skilled fighters, they’ll be welcome on the assault team, and I’ve little doubt that you would be able to put them to good use.”

“My lord –”

He held up a hand. “This isn’t what I wanted for you – for either of you, Kiryze, at least not _yet._ But needs must, my dears.”

“Like you’d’a wanted one of us as governor.”

He stared at Dainelle.

“Wait. Are you serious? Sith are all about having power.”

“…and the Force shall _set me free,”_ Dorian returned, feeling the faintest spark of humor before quashing it. This was not the time for emotion. “With you as Governor I could have joined Felix in the Reclamation Service, seeking knowledge. But no matter.”

“Dorian.” Kiryze stared at him. “Where _is_ Lord Felix?”

“Trying to recover what he can of the data the Jedi destroyed.” Dorian focused his eyes upon a blank spot in the wall. “That’s how we know about the plague.”

Dainelle’s hand went to her mouth, muffling a gasp, and Kiryze’s eyes shone with tears. “No. _Dorian_.”

“Yes,” he stood, plucking the datapad from Dainelle’s hands. He scrolled to the bottom, applying his electronic signature. “Be aware, my dears, that Force sensitives appear to be somewhat resistant to this form of the plague – but not immune.”

“My lord, the men are ready,” said Quinn, standing in the doorway. “What are your orders?”

“A moment, Major.” Dorian looked at the young women – _girls, children, students, legacy_ – “Do what you can. Do what you must.”

“What about the children?” asked Kiryze.

The Force prodded him, icy and relentless. “If you mean my family, the girls will be staying here. They will be needed.”

Dainelle scowled. “And the children of S’keth?”

“You will choose your refugees, Dainelle,” Dorian said. “And I will do my best to procure transportation.”

“Fucking sith, you’re just trying to save you own, sorry hide!”

“If you have another solution, I’m listening.” He stared her down. “No? Then get to work. There will be volunteers to help you defend the undercity. Use them wisely.”

He dropped the datapad to the table and strode out of the room.

“Are you sure that’s wise, my lord?” Quinn asked as they headed toward the communications hub. “They are unlikely to take your actions kindly.”

“It’s the most efficient way.” There was a largeish room near the center of the hub, unfurnished but for a large flat-screen on one end of the room. Dorian couldn’t remember what it had been meant for on the blueprints he and the Council had approved, but it didn’t matter now. Imperial soldiers filled the room, mingled with Bull’s clan in an eerie, tense quiet.

“Attention!” Quinn bellowed, drawing attention as he preceded Dorian in. “Darth Teizibe, you wished to address the men?”

“And women, soldier’s all.” A small burst of something like laughter shot through the room. “As you know, we have been subjected to orbital bombardment by one or more Republic ships. It’s a little difficult to fight from here.”

The room returned to tense silence.

“The failure is mine,” said Dorian. “We are far from the front. For all that Darth Angral chose this world for conquest, I did not seriously consider the lengths to which the Republic might go to retain what was once an unaffiliated, if Republic-leaning colony near the edges of Hutt Space. You’ve done good work here – _we’ve_ done good work, rebuilding both the infrastructure and the hope of these people.”

“For all the good it’s done now,” muttered someone in the back.

“That’s more true than you know.” Dorian folded his arms behind his back. “This morning, a Republic deep-cover agent revealed his presence – taking Darth Ekkage prisoner, capturing her guard, and taking a grotesque revenge on the people of this world for being willing to work toward a better future.

“They have released what appears to be an early variant of the Rackghoul plague that had been sitting in biostasis in the Temple north of the city. My husband, Lord Felix, had been working with the Reclamation Service and the Sphere of Biotic Sciences to try and find a safe way to contain and move the research once done at that facility – research that may have been crucial to finding a cure to one of the greatest biological threats the galaxy knows.”

“You’re shitting me,” blurted a green-skinned girl, Mirialan like Retrost’s padawan, if the tattoos were anything to go by. “The Republic released _that?”_

“Private Gaddes!” Quinn barked.

“No – it’s all right. If there was ever a time to have that kind of reaction, this is it.” Dorian held her eyes. “Not merely the Republic, private. The Jedi. Specifically, a Jedi Master named Nomen Karr – who had called himself Retrost –” at this several members of the _Kad-an_ began muttering, “told Lord Felix that any world that bent over for the Sith deserved what it got. There can be no doubt that it was his intention to engineer an atrocity against the population of S’keth.”

The dark murmuring picked up, and Dorian sucked it in, fueling the storm he barely held in check.

“I’m taking a team topside – we know they’ve landed troops. We’re going to take as many transports as we can, and we’re going to take their ship or ships.”

“How many are there?”

“We won’t know until we’ve secured their transports,” said Quinn. “They took out the primary satellite relay in the city. Our communications with anything in orbit are spotty at best, and we are already aware of sabotage to the satellites. All we can do is our best. We are Imperials, we never give less.”

The room went silent for a moment before a familiar voice called out, “For the Empire!”

“FOR THE EMPIRE!” the room roared back in response, even Bull’s _Kad-an_.

“Yes,” said Dorian in the following silence. “It’s a suicide mission each way – we need volunteers to take the transports we know of and assault whatever we have in orbit. And we need volunteers to protect the bunkers here. There’s no point in hijacking Republic ships if there’s no one to save.”

Krem, whose shout had unified the room, strolled forward, leading Calpurnia and the eldest of Dorian’s kids – not really children, nor really his, not any longer. Lana and Saaraij were not represented, but the rest were old enough and tall enough to fit armor scavenged from the closest security lockers, and each openly wore a lightsaber.

Calpurnia stared at him with dark, angry eyes, and said nothing as Lea’lei, once a tiny and fragile twi’lek child, stepped forward. “We’re staying.”

A distant part of Dorian wanted to rail at her – she was barely fifteen, Standard. The cold, rational part simply nodded. “You are old enough to attend the Academy of your own choice, you are certainly old enough to make this one.”

“We are Sith,” Lea’lei said, and Dorian felt his distant heart shatter into the finest dust. “It is our honor and our duty to serve the Empire.”

“For the Empire,” said Quinn, eyes dark.

She nodded gracefully. “For Imperial citizens and the Empire we all serve. It is our right to love and protect, is it not Dorian?”

“Of course.” His gaze swept around the room. “None of you are required to volunteer, of course – you may, if you wish, wait with the civilian population—”

“Not a chance,” said one man, stepping forward to kneel at Lea’Lei’s feet. “I will follow you, my lord, ‘till the end of this world.”

“And I,” said another soldier.

“Me, too.”

Lea’Lei’s jewel-green eyes met Dorian’s, bright with awe and tears as one by one, near half of the room swore fealty to her and her siblings.

_You’ll die,_ he thought, here on a distant world, so far from Adaarani, from Korriban, from _home_ , and yet to the same, vicious, ugly prejudice of the Republic. But the sacrifice would save lives.

The door to the room slid open.

“We have a plan,” Dainelle panted. “M’lord – _we have a plan._ ”

Dorian turned amidst a low rumble of shock. “What is it?”

“The generation ships, my lord – the ones that brought our people here!”

The Force twisted around Dorian, offering up a distant hope.

“It’s not much,” Kiryze. “The ships are upriver, near Tzaaris-Tisen. We don’t know if they were targeted at all, but they’ve always been maintained as part of the Colonist Landing museum.”

“They’re not going to hold a quarter of a million people, even if you could get them all there,” said Krem.

“No,” said Dainelle, eyes shimmering with a pale, golden light. “But we can take enough, if we have help.”

Later, Dorian thought, he’d feel pride – he could see her in the vast, swirling emptiness, her rage and righteous anger tamed and tempered from the still and brutal heart of her will. She’d found the center calm, and all that it entailed.

“You’ll need a diversion,” said Lea’lei. “You both will. We will be that.”

“Lea –“

“I’m sorry, mama.” Soldiers rose as Lea’lei passed, her hands outstretched toward Calpurnia. “You’ve been the best mom you could be for us, and I love you for it. But it was Master Nomen Karr that destroyed our home and sent us to the Empire. I’ve seen the footage of Lord Aquinea’s so-called trial – he’s the one who had that _lying, murdering bitch_ Meredith Stannard sent to Adaarani. I’m not going to let him – let the _Jedi_ – destroy another people the way they did the Adaari.”

“And the rest of you agree?”

“As long Lana and Saara live,” said Brethe, swiping long, golden hair from his eyes. “It is enough.”

“What are they talking about?” Dainelle demanded.

“We can’t let you do this,” said Kiryze at the same time. “You’re the last of your people.”

“And we’re going to ensure that _you’re_ not the last of yours,” said Lea’lei, serene. “It is our honor, our _privilege_ to serve.”

“Very well,” said Dainelle. “Dorian?”

“I will take Major Quinn and a small contingent of volunteers northward – we will liberate as many of their troop carriers as we can.” Dorian stared Calpurnia down. “Lord Thalrassian will guide and guard whomever you select for the trip to the sleeper ships. She’s a capable engineer and I know she’s flight certified on an impressive array of vehicles – I’ve little doubt that she will be able to help get them running.”

“Dorian, you know those types of ships aren’t designed for launch from a gravity well–”

“You will allow us to worry about that,” said Dainelle, the flame of her temper cooled to burning ice. “I have an idea about how to get them into orbit.”

She met his eyes, the white expanse of Light expanding around them. An ocean of blood rose around her feet, rising to her neck, and Dorian nodded, understanding. Whatever it took, she would do.

“Lea’lei, you must protect the city. Occupy their forces – _be_ the danger they fear most.”

The twi’lek girl’s smile was a sharp, sad curve. “Your mother’s goal when she left us on Adaarani – to be their nightmare. If I can be half the Sith your mother was, those ‘Pubs will understand _why_ the Sith are feared.”

“Do try not to die, would you?” Dorian said with calculated levity, sparking a roll of laughter throughout the room.

“Milord is always put out by his people dying.” Quinn’s voice was light with a humor that didn’t reach the man’s eyes.

“It’s true,” said one of the other soldiers. “I vote we save as many as we can.”

The feeling of assent – of _sacrifice_ – reverberated through the room.

“We will take from them what we need,” said Dorian. “Once we have transports, we will take at least two to assault whatever is in orbit – the rest that we liberate can be used to transport refugees to the colony ships.”

“You are certain of your ability to take the ship, or ships, in orbit?” asked Kiryze, eyes wide.

“They didn’t make him a Darth for his people skills,” said Calpurnia, eyes darkly probing. “He will do what must be done – as will we all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nu valianie daritis ardyti’netvarka -- I will not become the destructive chaos/I will not become the center dark  
> hut'uun jetii -- coward jedi  
> Darjetii'ike -- little sith  
> Maalzjin’senthru, sithas iv-sith -- the center calm, the perfection of the sith  
> Ta’Qyâsik kash su’ji, su’mus. Xisad su’mus. Xisad sithas iv-sith. -- The Force is with her, with us. Always with us. Always the perfection of the sith.


	9. Cullen: Coruscant, Taekhren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what do we do?” asked Cullen. “We can’t just go there without authorization.”
> 
> “The Republic Ambassador to Taekhren has reported a large influx of Imperial-aligned refugees and an increasing difficulty in dealing with the Taekhren-ai government.” Josie dimpled. “The Taekhren-ai have accused the Republic of an unnamed atrocity that threatens the whole galaxy – apparently they assume that our ambassador already knows what they’re talking about.”
> 
> “It is fate, no?” Leliana’s smirk could have drawn blood. “We can begin our investigation into S’keth before anyone can try and stop us.”

Cullen looked up as Leliana slipped into the briefing room.

“You’ve all got to see this,” she panted, interrupting Cassandra’s daily update on the cases of rumored Republic war crimes.

“What is it, Leliana?” asked Cassandra.

“Copy of a message that the Jedi Order _may_ be forced to present on the Senate Floor in regards to the capture of Darth Ekkage and the failed attempt to liberate the colony of S’keth from Imperial control.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “I thought the trial of Darth Ekkage concluded weeks ago.”

“It did.” Giselle looked up from her datapads. “She was convicted of war crimes and is slated for execution.”

“You said ‘may be forced to present.’” Cullen leaned back from the table. “It’s not currently in evidence?”

“Satele Shan brought it to Dorotea, in the hopes that Dorotea and the Senate Military Oversight Committee would find it irrelevant to the loss of S’keth and the entire Atrell Sector. Taekhren and Jobzhal remain neutral – but they are now unquestionably favoring the Empire, where before they were very much favoring us.” Leliana slid into her chair, sliding a datastick into the holo-port.

A familiar image flickered to life on the table and Cullen’s breath caught. The blue-white of the holo hid the blood-red of the Sith’s skin, and the facial structures that marked him a sith pureblood were subtle, but there was no question on Cullen’s mind who it was.

“Dorian,” Cullen breathed, nearly inaudible.

“Darth Teizibe,” Leliana said, leaving the message paused as the figure rotated, giving them all a good view. “Also known as Dorian Thalrassian – or _Pavus_ , depending on who you talk to. The distinction is not entirely clear. Formerly the Imperial Governor of S’keth. Rumored to be the Sith who got Darth Malgus off of Alderaan. Very much a rising star in the Empire, at least until his failure to hold the world he was given.”

Cassandra scowled at the image. “Thalrassian. That name is familiar.”

“It should be,” said Leliana. “We’ve been working on getting evidence regarding the Republic’s attack on Adaarani since the inception of the Inquisition, but we haven’t had much progress, not when we’ve had so many more recent – and more relevant – cases to look into.”

Cullen’s hand clenched.

“Ah. Of course. I recall it – Cullen, you were part of the raid, were no not?”

“Yes.” The years since had done little to change or clarify his memory of the event, even with Giselle’s help. Despite the assurances that it was clear his mind had been tampered with, he stubbornly recalled his Master’s unwarranted attack on _children_. “I was.”

“Do you have any insights on this…. Dorian Thalrassian?”

Cullen hesitated, glancing over to Giselle.

“The assault on Adaarani is at the core of our expulsion from the Jedi Order,” said Giselle, frowning slightly at Leliana. “Which is a thing that you well know. The Jedi Order contends that Cullen’s memories of the event are unreliable – that he was subject to some form of compulsion or memory modification. We’ve been working on the potential blocks, but despite effort we have had little progress.”

“Even so,” said Cassandra, “what he recalls may be of use, if only to tell us what the Sith wanted him to think.”

“He saved the kids.” The words popped out, releasing a pressure in his chest. “He couldn’t ‘have been much more than a kid himself, but… My master intended to execute everyone, even the baby.”

Giselle gasped. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He’d told her that in his memory Master Stannard had Fallen, but he’d never admitted how far. Leliana shot him a bemused look.

“Darth Teizibe is a pureblood – he’s likely older than you, despite his looks,” she told him drily. “Even so, you say that he was instrumental in saving children?”

Cullen nodded.

“Interesting,” said Leliana. “That corresponds quite well with some of the intelligence out of Dromund Kaas at the time. Not long after Darth Saaraij’s execution, there was a memorial for her. There were reports of a cadre of children being presented to the Dark Council as part of it. There were also leaked videos that seemed to show Jedi cutting down unarmed civilians, though that was largely discounted as Imperial propaganda.”

“There… there _was?_ ”

“Yes. We didn’t allow the information out into the greater Holonet, of course. It would have been dreadful for morale, no? And at that point Darth Saaraij had already been executed, so it was hardly relevant to her case.”

It was a punch in the gut. “There’s evidence that my memories are _real_?”

“Cullen.” Giselle put her hand on his clenched fist. “Is there any way we could review the footage?”

“Of course,” said Leliana. “It’s obvious that it was faked, though – it had Master Stannard wielding a saber with a dark blade – probably the same one that the Jedi presented as belonging to Darth Saaraij.”

“It _wasn’t_ Lord Aquinea’s.” Cullen swallowed hard. “She gave her blades to her son. To Dorian – so he could protect the kids from the wildlife.”

The room fell silent.

“This is the way you remember it?” asked Cassandra.

“Yes,” he waved at the holo. “There were rumors, you know – at Organa castle, that the Sith that assaulted them was really civilized about it. The civilian casualties were almost ridiculously low. That the Sith delivered a baby in the street and then called his personal medic to be sure that mother and baby were fine. That there were… the expected assaults for an invasion, but not by any of the Imperial soldiers.”

“You believe it was this Dorian Pavus?” asked Giselle.

“He,” Cullen corrected her absently, a careless salvo in their long-running argument about ‘humanizing’ the Sith. Giselle preferred to consider them animals, without right to being considered persons, much less having names. She rolled her eyes, letting loose an explosive huff.

“ _It_ is still a Sith, regardless of any kindnesses it may have shown.”

Cassandra frowned, narrowing her eyes at Giselle in clear disapproval. “Be that as it may – you believe that this Dorian is the one who attacked Pallista?”

“There was something he said… something like ‘I do not permit _my_ men rapine and pillage.’ He implied that Republic troops do. I’m pretty sure he called us hypocrites.” Cullen shrugged helplessly. “But seems standard Imperial attitude, Sith or not. “

“It is certainly true that Pallista was the least damaged of the cities of Alderaan.” Josephine’s stylus tapped on the table as she tilted her head to the side, dark eyes studying the man in the image. “The name Thalrassian _is_ associated with the more bloodless invasions.”

Cullen nodded. “I didn’t know that – but when he confronted me on Alderaan… I don’t know, I just… I think I just assumed it was him. I mean, we knew it wasn’t Malgus that actually _took_ Pallista, we’d all know if it had been Malgus, and that one Sith…. Angral? He’s far more brutal. Pallista would have been razed, but for the spaceport.” Cullen looked at Cassandra. “Do you remember when we talked on Alderaan? You said something about how attacks by the Empire had grown less violent and more successful in bringing worlds into the fold. The boy – young man – I remember from Adaarani. He was a sarcastic little snot, but he was filled with compassion and duty.”

“And that is why your memories cannot be trusted,” said Giselle. “Sith understand nothing of duty, or of honor. _Imperials_ sometimes have a strict code, but it’s all in service to the Sith, who revel in their anger and care only for their own power.”

“Perhaps so,” said Leliana. “You are the expert in regards to the Sith. Of a certainty, this man is an angry one.”

The holo stopped rotating, though for a few moments there was nothing there but a stare that burned like a nova. “To the Jedi Council of Coruscant – unlike my colleagues I do believe in being precise about the whole thing – I am Darth Teizibe. You may recognize me, you may not – after all, I am uncertain just how much information your pet spy, the inestimable Nomen Karr may have shared about me.

“I would say that I’m not very important to him – that may even be true, alas, _such_ a blow to my pride – but rest assured, _he_ has made himself – and _you_ – most important to _me._ And so I return to you, my dearest and well-loved of nemeses, a small gift. To Nomen Karr, I give the young and hapless Padawan he left behind as a sacrifice.” Dorian’s hand raised. “No, no, I know what you’re thinking, that no Master would do such a wretched thing, but I can think of no other reason to flee the system and leave a child at the mercy of one such as you assume myself to be. And with such orders and accomplices! No, there is no doubt that he meant the poor boy to die, which should come as no surprise to you. Nomen Karr is, after all, one of the cruelest and most vile creatures I have had the displeasure of meeting, and I’ve met the man who fathered me.”

Dorian paused, expression simultaneously murderous and thoughtful. “Ah, where was I? Ah, yes. This is the second time you’ve allowed Nomen Karr to commit gross murder forpersonal gain. I know what you’re thinking – you are Jedi and Jedi never operate out of self-interest, but quite honestly, what else could it have been on Adaarani? What possible threat was a _single Sith_ on a world where a handful of Force Sensitives lived in peace with themselves and the Force? What possible point was there to destroying a colony of beings that had chosen peaceful rebuilding over pointless rebellion?

“The answer of course, is the captures of Darth Saaraij and of Darth Ekkage – high profile targets. No price, of course, was too high to pay, especially among the natives.” Dorian shook his head. “That it was a convenient way to rid himself of his lovers and any little _gifts_ he may have left them is… irrelevant, yes?” He waved a hand, dismissive. “No matter – this message is not to call you out for your evil and your depravity, or your self-righteous grandstanding.  No. Unlike you, I have honor. Once I was a soldier of the Empire, your enemy by policy, despite the horror _you_ , not the _Republic,_ visited upon my home.

“Now, you have caused the destruction of those I was sworn to protect. You authorized the murder of my uncle and the slaughter of his children. You have the gall to call my people _monsters_ when you sit upon your heartless thrones and order the slaying of pure innocents.” Thin, mobile lips curved. “Once I despised you for the ridiculous nature of your philosophy. Now I suppose I can only be grateful for the purity of my newfound hatred for your actions. As you showed no mercy, thus shall you have none. And I shall not rest until I have seen your Order laid _waste._ For the horror you visited upon Adaarani, for the abomination you delivered upon S’keth, I will see you _pay._ ”

The holo flickered out.

“A Sith, scolding the Jedi Council for their _depravity?_ ” scoffed Giselle. “That’s madness. They are among the purest and most rational beings in the _galaxy._ ”

“Is it?” asked Josephine, quirking a brow. _“_ This _is_ the same Jedi Council tossed Cullen out, and for little enough reason. Are you so certain that they’re above reproach? After all, is that no why we are here at all?”

Giselle sighed. “They are not perfect, Josephine – but they are hardly child-killing monsters.”

Josephine hummed. “Perhaps not. Still, I find myself wondering. _Darth Teizibe_. I find it telling do you not agree?”

“How so?” asked Cassandra.

“Often the titles bestowed upon the High Sith have meaning. Usually they are titles that invoke violence or cruelty. _Malgus_ , which seems to evoke evil, or something bad. _Marr, Vengean_ … it is common, yes?” Josephine’s fingers tapped on the edge of the table. “But _Teizibe,_ _Saaraij_ … These are not negative words at all.”

“How do you know?” Giselle snapped.

“Because I speak Sith.” Josephine riposted, ungentle. “I am a diplomat – to know my enemy is the greatest weapon I have on my field of battle. The words are from older dialects… but Teizibe means _justice_ , just as Saaraij means _truth._ ”

“What?”

“ _Ekkage,_ for example, from wreckage, or _Baras_ – given his reputation for slyness and blackmail, from embarrass, perhaps. But also there is Ravage – which needs no translation. These names held by Thalrassians – these titles – Truth and Justice, seem unusual. And strangely symbolic, with both seeming victims of the Jedi Order and the Republic.”

“Posturing, no doubt,” Giselle countered sharply. “You must be careful, Josie – to try and give them any kind of… of credit for kindness, for good will… it blinds you to their evil. There is no end to the scheming and manipulation. You must not take what you know to be honest and true.”

“It is our job to find out,” said Cassandra, intervening. Giselle was one of the kindest and most generous people Cullen knew, but her view of the Sith was uncompromising. “We know little of what happened on S’keth – only that Master Karr escaped with Darth Ekkage and her cadre of bodyguards in his custody. Something went wrong in the following liberation of S’keth.”

“’Something went wrong?’” Leliana’s lips quirked up, sly and sharp. “Cassandra, your gift for understatement is, as always, astonishing. Two ships missing, with two thousand crew and complement. It was a liberation – the S’kethi were expected to welcome the Republic as saviors. Instead the planet is silent as the grave, and we do not yet know why.”

“Yet the message refers to a Padawan and a young soldier,” said Josephine. “Neither of these individuals were mentioned at Darth Ekkage’s trial. When did the Jedi receive this message?”

“ _That_ is not clear.” Leliana’s mobile features stilled, sudden cold shattering her cheerful mask. Cullen shivered. Leliana was SIS, a woman with a thousand faces, but this one underlay all the masks. Icy calculations ran behind her eyes, affecting nothing upon her coldly neutral mien. “I do not like it. It is clear that this Darth Teizibe is not threatening the Republic as a whole –”

“Not beyond what the destruction of the Order would do,” said Cassandra, snorting.

“—which arguably means it’s not directly the business of the Senate. But this matter of a padawan and a soldier. Who are they? What is the Order trying to hide? It’s no coincidence they sent this with Satele Shan.”

Cullen winced. He’d long since come to terms with his expulsion from the Order, but the distance gave him a jaundiced eye that continually clashed with his early training that the Jedi could do no wrong. Using the Order’s most popular hero to ask a favor was a blatant manipulation, the sort of thing the Jedi weren’t supposed to be prone to.

The _Sith_ were the manipulators and liars after all. Not the Jedi.

So even though it was obvious, the notion that it was a deliberate attempt to sway the committee’s opinion would be dismissed. Over the last years it had become more and more obvious to Cullen that there _was_ a clear rot within the Order, far beyond the hypocrisy of Satele Shan carrying on an affair with Jace Malcom, all while being held up as the ideal of all a Jedi should be. Giselle reluctantly agreed – noting that it affected Temples other than Coruscant.

“Isn’t that what we’re here to do?” Cullen asked quietly. “We’ve been investigating incidents all over the galaxy, only to be stonewalled by someone – it isn’t clear if it’s the Army or the Order, but _someone_ wants us to just chase our tails while the Oversight Committee can say that all claims are being investigated. Can’t we just – I don’t know. Go after whatever happened on S’keth?”

“I’d like to investigate Nomen Karr,” Cassandra grunted. “The man spent years in the Empire, worming his way up to where he could get information on the Dark Council itself.”

Josephine snorted and Leliana leveled a glare at Cassandra. “Nomen Karr is a patriot who did whatever was needed to help us protect the Republic. Whatever he may have done as a spy –”

“Is excusable, only so long as he wasn’t instigating needless massacres,” Cassandra snapped. “I do not care if he seduced Darth Ekkage, or killed when necessary to keep his cover. But if he used the Jedi or Republic forces for unnecessary deaths, that is a thing that is entirely different.”

Leliana’s mouth snapped closed.

“We don’t know precisely what happened on Adaarani,” said Giselle, “But S’keth certainly seems to be a reasonable target for investigation. For all that I doubt the words of the _Sith_ , it is clear that something happened there.”

“Should we investigate this padawan? The soldier?”

“Josephine?” asked Cassandra.

“It may be difficult – Leliana, does the committee know that we have this recording?”

“Not yet – Senator Iustinia wanted to know if we were planning to investigate.” The cold bled from Leliana’s eyes. “We’ll receive the holo through official channels eventually.”

Cassandra rubbed the bridge of her nose, shaking her head slowly.

“So what do we do?” asked Cullen. “We can’t just go there without authorization.”

“The Republic Ambassador to Taekhren has reported a large influx of Imperial-aligned refugees and an increasing difficulty in dealing with the Taekhren-ai government.” Josie dimpled. “The Taekhren-ai have accused the Republic of an unnamed atrocity that threatens the whole galaxy – apparently they assume that our ambassador already knows what they’re talking about.”

“It is fate, no?” Leliana’s smirk could have drawn blood. “We can begin our investigation into S’keth before anyone can try and stop us.”

 

The Inquisition had a small ship at their disposal, a converted XS-Freighter with multiple identification beacons. One legal… the rest, only nominally so by virtue of the SIS. Right now they were broadcasting as registered to a freelance cargo transport out of Nar Shadda, which would hopefully ease gaining a berth at Taekhren’s orbital station and off-planet marketplace.

The XS was a reasonably large ship. The modifications allowed each of them their own cabin – useful, though the shared ’fresher was occasionally an annoyance. Waiting for Josephine to complete her morning toilette was a useful exercise in patience, according to Giselle.

One that Cullen did his best to circumvent by not sharing piloting shifts

Being the only male in a ship filled with women who thought of themselves as his older sisters had its downsides. Much like Satele’s ship, so long ago, the freighter’s cargo bay had been converted into an exercise space, using what supplies they carried for themselves as obstacles and challenges, which was incredibly useful on longer flights. As fast as their ship was, it still would take at least four tendays to reach the Taekhren-ai system.

Cullen plugged Dorian’s holo into the central holoemitter in the common area, barely listening to the ridiculously sithlike monologue as he studied the image.

Cassandra came in from the cockpit and frowned at him.

“Again?” she asked. “You are strangely obsessed with this.”

He paused the holo, letting the image turn in idle circles.

“I keep thinking that there’s something odd about it,” Cullen pointed at Dorian. “I mean, look at him. He’s a high lord of the Sith.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Why’s he wearing scored and mended Mandalorian-style armor?” Cullen tapped the controls for a moment, pulling up images of Darth Malgus and Darth Angral. “He’s not wearing armor meant to instill terror and create fear. He’s wearing the armor of a mercenary – a _working_ mercenary. If he hadn’t said ‘Hello, I’m a Dark Lord of the Sith’ you’d barely guess it. It seems… I don’t know. Out of character for a Sith Lord.”

Cassandra dropped into the seat next to him, considering the twirling figures.

“He is different,” she said quietly. “I feel some concern. It is easy to predict some of them. Angral is a brute. Malgus is prone to bold, sweeping gestures. But this man?” She pointed at Dorian. “He called himself a soldier, a protector. He seems neither an egomaniac, nor a fool.”

Cullen nodded. “I wish I could remember Adaarani.”

“Are you so sure that you’re not?” asked Cassandra. “I know that the Jedi Council said that you had tampering in your mind… but… what if they were wrong? What if they only saw what they wanted to see?”

He looked at her. She quirked an eyebrow up.

“Cullen, it’s been what, seven years? Almost eight? Knight Matha is very good at what she does. What if the reason she can’t find the tampering of the Sith is because it isn’t there?”

Cullen twitched. “Cassandra.”

“What if she’s looking in the wrong place?” Cassandra’s voice lowered, a bare whisper barely heard above the thrum of the engine. “Cullen, what if she’s looking for the wrong tampering?”

The speculation hit him, a shiv of doubt straight to the kidneys. He tried to swallow, choking against the desert sands that suddenly coated his tongue.

“What?”

“Are you sure the problem is your _memory?_ ” Her eyes faded to silver, skin reddening like blood beneath pointed eye-ridges. For a moment Aquinea Thalrassian stared at him, lips curled, derisive and doubting, and…

Cullen jerked awake, the thin blanket of his bunk slithering off his legs to pool sliver-grey in the dim light of his quarters. He forced himself still, calming his labored breath. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Still. _That’s the problem, isn’t it? All the things you think you know._

Cullen knew that he’d been tampered with, he could feel the elastic wobble in his mind, the places that felt soft and malleable.

_But who did the tampering?_

The thought whispered in his mind, in the memory of a voice long-stilled, yet as clear in his mind as when she’d sat across from him at meals. Cullen almost wished that he could speak to Lord Aquinea and wondered what it said about him that he’d consider taking a Sith’s word over the insistence of those he’d once called his brethren.

Or what it said about the _Jedi_.

His door chimed. Cullen sat up.

“Come in.”

“You are not up?” Cassandra stood in the doorway, dressed in light armor, her pistol holster empty, though a vibrosword was sheathed at her back. “I am surprised. We arrive at Taekhren in three hours. If you wish a chance at the ’fresher, I advise that you get there before Josephine.”

Cullen sighed.

“Are you all right?” Cassandra stepped into the room, letting the door close behind her.

“Dreams.” He slid out from under the thin blankets. “Strange, strange dreams.”

“Ah.” As always, she stood at parade rest. “Do you wish to speak of them?”

“Yes? No?” Cullen grabbed his toiletries and the armorweave undersuit he’d wear beneath the leathers Leliana had bought for him. “I don’t know. There are so many things. So many new reports of atrocities, ours and the Empire’s. And we still haven’t gone back to Adaarani, even though it’s been years since we started the unit. It’s… it’s like some part of me is stuck there, with Dorian.”

Cassandra hummed, lips pursing in a small frown. “Is Knight Matha not helping you with this?”

“She’s tried.”

“Mind healers?”

Cullen shook his head. “They’re all… they’re all Jedi.”

Cassandra raised a brow.

“Do you not trust the Jedi?”

“No, I don’t.” The words snapped out before he could stop them. Cassandra’s eyebrows traced out twin arcs of surprise, though she kept her expression otherwise contained. “It’s all the things they think they know, Cassandra. They look at me and see some poor boy deluded by the Sith, enough that I left the order.”

“But you and Giselle have both indicated that your mind _has_ been tampered with.”

“But by who?” Cullen shook his head. “Giselle and I reviewed the Adaarani footage. It matches what I remember, not what I’ve been told I should.”

“You suspect the Jedi?”

“Or my own mind. Create enough doubts and what ifs… it’ll do the work of modifying memory for you.”

Cassandra grunted.

“I see.” Her chrono beeped. “Blast. We will speak of this again, soon. But for now…”

“It’s a race to get the ’fresher. I know.”

The door swept open revealing a grinning Leliana. “Cassandra, what would your husband say if he knew that you’ve been spending time in other men’s bedrooms?”

“He might ask if we had sex and then ask if it was any good, why?”

Cullen blinked at her back. “Um.”

Leliana laughed a little. “You two are ridiculously pragmatic.”

“Leliana,” Cassandra sighed. “We are often in different sectors, on opposite sides of the galaxy. We have never held one another to physical fidelity, though I’ve never been in the practice of taking lovers, you know this.”

“And I didn’t need to,” said Cullen. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to take a shower.”

“Fortunately for you, Josephine is still drooling into her pillow.”

“And you know this, how?”

“A girl must have her secrets…” Their voices faded as he jogged down the corridor, cutting off as he locked the ’fresher door. He leaned back against it, amused and faintly horrified by Leliana’s most recent attempt to needle Cassandra. Cullen sighed, ducking into the water shower – a luxury on a cargo freighter, but an indulgence that Cullen felt no need to deny himself. Years away from the Order, away from Master Stannard’s strict asceticism – and _with_ Leliana’s teasing – had finally allowed him to realize that the simple pleasures would not cause him to fall screaming into Darkness.

His anger? His frustration? Possibly. But not the warm sensuality of water flowing over his skin, or the thick, silken lather of his favored cleansers. The Force wouldn’t shove him into freefall for taking himself in hand and thinking of what a grown-up Dorian looked like, eyes snapping fire even in the leeched blue of holographic transmission. It wasn’t wrong or dirty, though it might be ill advised, especially on a ship of spies and voyeurs.

Cullen let his fantasies run, letting the sharper, more defined angles of Dorian’s face merge into the older images, coming with a small sigh just as the water began to grow tepid, signaling the end of his shower ration. He finished scrubbing down and rinsing just in time. The shower shut off, water replaced by a swirl of hot air to pull the moisture from his skin and hair and return it to the recycling systems.

He stepped out, clean, dry, and satisfied enough not to care that his hair had puffed into a riot of curls. It would do for his persona dirtside, a leather-clad spacer of indeterminate origin looking for crew and cargo.

Cullen walked out of the ’fresher, pulling on the last of his costume. His hands slid into the fingerless, black leather half-gloves and he heard a low whistle.

“It is unfair, I think,” said Josephine. “Shower and leather pants and you are beautiful with no effort at all. You didn’t even comb your hair, did you?”

The smile that flirted with the corner of her generously curved lips was both ironic and wistful.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lady,” he gave her a florid little bow, capturing her fingers and breathing a kiss upon her knuckles. “I did not. Do you disapprove?”

Josephine laughed. “Oh, I do! You shall set all the hearts afluttering.”

“And the loins a-burning,” Leliana chipped in, eyeing him critically as she sauntered around him in a slow circle. “Dual blasters, sex-mussed hair. No one would mistake you for a Jedi.”

“A good thing, since I’m not one.”

“You can take the boy out of the Jedi, but the Jedi out of the boy?” She looked at Josephine. “We’ve only got about four hours before we dock at the station, Josie. You and Giselle need to be ready to look like diplomatic envoys who tapped the fastest ship they could find.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Josephine slipped into the ’fresher, door closing firmly behind her. “And you. How’s your Huttese lilt?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. They’d discussed trying to disguise their Republic accents, the easiest and most believable thing the lyrical roll and lilt of someone who habitually spoke Huttese. “I could,” he said, in the near-musical ones, before letting his accent sharpen and then fuzz with a burr. “Or I could use my own.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Thedasian hill-country. It’s almost Imperial sounding.”

“Lass, it’s very Imperial sounding,” he told her, finding the remembered rhythms easily enough. “On account of m’ancestors having fled the Empire.”

“That’ll certainly do nicely,” she told him. “It’s probably better, given the circumstances. Cassandra’s never hidden her Nevarran accent, but most people wouldn’t be able to identify it as Republic anyway.”

He nodded.

“You know your cover. Try to get dirtside. Find what you can.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He tossed her a salute and headed toward the galley. Giselle, resplendent in armored robes, sat at the communal table, idly picking at a bowl of dried fruits. She looked up as he came in, and pushed a bowl of honey-sweetened grain mush at him.

“Eat,” she said softly. “I even bothered crumbling some of that spiced sausage you like into it.”

Cullen raised a brow at her and sat down across from her, picking up a spoon.

“I could feel you dreaming. I thought you might appreciate a taste of home.”

He took a bite and hummed with appreciation. Like the accent he would adopt for the Taekhren-ai, the porridge was a bit of Thedasian flavor. Spiced sausage, bits of _ajara-_ fruit, smoky salt and a drizzle of honey – it was a medley of luxuries here, far away from his homeworld.

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

“Former Jedi,” she said, tapping her chest. “I’ve seen you prepare breakfast when you’ve got the funds to spoil yourself. Also, I know you’re from Senator Iustinia’s homeworld, I did some research.”

“So you’ve been planning to feed me for a while?”

“Cullen, left to your own devices you’d live on the knife-edge of starvation.” Giselle rolled her eyes. “So, yes, I have a long list of things to tempt you with.”

He grunted an acknowledgement, although he thought she was exaggerating.

“That said, Cassandra is under strict orders to make sure you eat, since I’m going to be with Josephine.”

“I am an adult, you know.”

“Iustinia might have made sure you got knighted, but you’re still my squire and padawan. I’m allowed to worry about your habit of forgetting to eat while you’re working, and you’re never _not_ working.”

He chuckled. “All right, all right. I’ll concede. Is that why you guys conspired to get me a domestic droid?”

She smirked. “It might have something to do with it.”

He shook his head and took another bite of porridge.

 

They entered the Taekhren system on a long arc that brushed the solar ecliptic. They were at the highest point above the solar plane when the sensor readings around Taekhren resolve, revealing an Imperial Battle Group and two Republic troop carriers in far orbit around a massive gas giant.

“Traitors,” muttered Giselle.

“Taekhren is neutral.” Josephine’s voice was carefully even, though the images of the Republic ships were disturbing. They appeared to be energy-dead – not merely idle – their orbit clearly controlled by the surrounding ships.

“Have we heard anything about the Imperials taking prisoners?” Cullen asked.

“That’s the _Cathar’s Claw_ and the _Bladespike_ ,” said Leliana from the pilot’s seat. “Two of the three ships sent to S’keth. If their crews were taken prisoner we’d know. It was assumed that the ships were destroyed.”

“Clearly not,” said Cassandra. “Fuck. We _can’t_ be identified as Republic.”

“Our ambassador has not been ejected from the system,” said Josephine. “The Empire hasn’t claimed Taekhren, nor have they declared themselves allied. As long as they’re not threatening the planet – a difficult task for a world such as this – and they are welcome by the local government, there is little to be done or said about their presence.”

“They are traitors,” said Giselle again. “They’ve been Republic leaning for a thousand years, Josephine.”

“Yes, well.” Josephine’s eyes never moved from the images of the ships. “In that time the Republic has not often been a good friend to them. It is little wonder that it has taken so little effort for the Empire to claim even part of their loyalty.”

“The Empire is _evil_.” Giselle protested.

“They also fight pirates and unauthorized slavers, even when there’s a war on,” Josie retorted, dry as dust. “That is the battle group granted to Imperial Governor Dorian Pavus – they’ve spent most of the last year eliminating piracy in the sector and increasing the security of all trade, _including_ the routes that go into the Republic, which is more than we’ve done in three hundred years. When was the last time a Jedi was even here?”

“Three or so standard months?” Leliana hazarded. “Providing that Master Karr came here at all.”

Josephine snorted. “He did not. And it has been at least fifty. Even with the piracy and slave raids throughout the sector.”

“They aren’t Republic worlds.”

Cullen turned and looked at Giselle. “So?”

“Even if they requested Jedi help, the Jedi are in service to the Republic. You know that we – that _they_ don’t often operate on non-Republic worlds unless there’s a benefit to the Republic.”

“Then I’m glad I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

“We’re here on a mission for the Republic as it is, Cullen,” Giselle reproved. “The Republic Embassy on S’keth had an outreach program. They had a higher than average incidence of Force sensitive children. I believe the Temple on Dantooine has had a large number of candidates from there.”

Cullen bit his tongue to remain silent. It was true that their current mission was on behalf of the Republic. It was not, however, a complacent attempt to drain resources from people who lived without the direct protection of the Senate. He glanced at Cassandra, noting the displeased little moue of her lips as she studied Giselle. She shot him a look, and he knew that they’d be speaking of it later.

“Hush now,” said Leliana. “We’re being hailed by the docking authority.”

They held themselves silent as Leliana spoke to the Taekhren-ai authorities, the Huttese lilt of her voice emphasized. They were given an authorized approach vector and an appointment for ship inspection.

“Is that normal?” asked Giselle.

“What do you mean?” Leliana smoothly maneuvered the ship into the requested shipping lane.

“They’re intending to _board the ship_ , Leliana.”

“We are not aboard a diplomatic corvette, Giselle.” Leliana rolled her eyes. “It is a shame, but carrying a diplomat is not the same as being a diplomatic vessel, no?”

“Leliana.”

“We are a merchant ship – suspicious because we are running empty, with only passengers. They’ll be able to tell by the scans. But it is standard procedure, for all that their security is tighter than expected.”

“Nar Shadda isn’t like this,” retorted Giselle.

“Nar Shadda is run by Hutts that are already getting a percentage of your smuggling take,” Leliana retorted. “And who do not care if stray germs wipe out a sector.”

“Hmmmph.”

Giselle pushed her way out of the crowded cockpit, Josephine following her with a small frown.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” said Cullen.

“I do not think she likes the accusations against the Jedi.” Cassandra put a hand on his shoulder. “Come, let us leave Leliana to her work.”

“Thank you,” said Leliana as they exited. They went to the common area, dropping into the worn seating before tuning into the local holonet stations, seeking one in Basic. They found a local program detailing the growth of what the announcer called a new ‘inner sphere,’ one of the multitude of small hollow planetoids that orbited the core of Taekhren beneath the swirling dance of clouds.

Cullen blinked when he heard what the dimensions of the new sphere would be.

“That’s larger than Coruscant!” Cassandra nodded, her eyes wide and startled. “I thought the inner spheres were supposed to be… tiny.”

“I did as well,” she told him. “But it is rather a large gas giant, I suppose that you could build many Coruscant’s within it and consider them small.”

“But why would you?”

“We know that the technology to construct whole star systems has existed.” She gave him a wry look.

“But not from scratch.” They watched in fascination as the speaker – and odd being in the shape of a kind of flattened sphere, or perhaps an inflated ellipse, with a multitude of protruding sensory organs and sharp beaks – described the process of mining the clouds and refining the compounds that would eventually become the skin of the new world. It spoke in a strangely neutral accent, neither Republic, Imperial, nor Hutt, though Cullen wasn’t quite sure what it’s speaking organ might actually be. It wasn’t as though the beaks moved.

“It is a wonder that they deal with the outer galaxy at all,” said Cassandra. “How many of these things are there, I wonder? There could be hundreds. Even thousands.”

“It is unknown,” said Josephine. “There are only a few that are habitable by most humanoids, and precious few more that can be occupied at all. The Taekhren-ai have never been forthcoming on the subject.”

“Where is Giselle?”

“She is meditating. She apologizes for her outburst, but she is quite upset by the idea that even neutral worlds might find a reason to align with the Empire.”

Cassandra sighed. “Giselle is a good woman, but I do wonder if she is truly suited for this, Josephine. Even with what happened when she and Cullen left the order, she remains dogmatic – even if it is the looser interpretation of the Green Jedi.”

“I intend to speak to Dorotea when we get back,” Josephine flopped gracefully into a seat, an incongruity that Cullen never quite managed to reconcile. “What are you watching?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a documentary, a news program, or general educational programming,” said Cullen as whatever it was wound down to an end. Something new popped up, this time with a young Togrutan, her red-and-white patterned skin and graceful montrals a pleasing contrast to the dense green undergrowth shown in the background. She appeared to be beginning a tour of one of the humanoid-compatible spheres. The vegetation was odd – things that weren’t quite trees, though they seemed to be covered in leaves and hanging fruit-like objects. Cullen allowed himself to become sufficiently caught up in the program that it was a minor shock when the ship juddered, a loud clang echoing through with the vibration.

“Customs inspection,” said Leliana, ducking out of the cockpit. “We will need Giselle.”

“I’m here,” Giselle glided in. “I apologize for my outburst. It was uncalled for.”

“Forgiven,” Josephine said instantly, standing. “This is a little unknown to us all.”

The inspectors came in on the tail end of Josephine’s words, biting his tongue to maintain his composure. She looked every inch the diplomat: soft hands, rich clothes, open demeanor. Cullen wouldn’t have put it past her to arrange it so the first words the inspectors heard were of forgiveness and empathy.

“Idents and manifest,” said the first, a dark-skinned human female with extensive cybernetic enhancements. Her mechanical eyes whirred softly, glowing red as she scanned the identity chits Leliana handed her. Beside her floated a being, much like the one they’d seen on the local holonet, it’s many limbs extending and contracting around it in whiplike pseudopods. It rolled in the air, held up, Cullen was faintly shocked to realize, by its intense connection to the Force.

“What is your business here?” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and Cullen felt an unexpected pressure on his mind. The Force resonated within the room, demanding honesty.

“I am here to speak to the Republic Ambassador,” said Josephine, the incomplete but valid truth softening the compulsion. “Knight Matha is here as my bodyguard. These others are the crew of the ship. They’ve expressed an interest in seeing your world.”

The human snorted. “Right. Freighter out of Hutt Space, yeah? What’re you carrying?”

“Nothing,” said Leliana. “Lady Montilyet requested the fastest trip here. We thought we might seek some trade while we’re here. Taekhren-ai goods are exotic, they would fetch a good price when we return Lady Montilyet home.”

Cullen marveled at the ease with which Leliana spun truths into an obscuring lie.

The being’s beaks clattered, the pressure in the room easing up, though Cullen did not have the sense that it was truly satisfied. It floated off. Leliana made a move to follow, only to be stopped by the heavy, mechanized hand of the human. “You will remain until _igir_ is done with the physical inspection of your ship. You will lock down your ship’s weapons. You will place all personal weapons in a weapons locker provided by the government.   You will submit to invasive search. If you cannot or will not comply, you will be given two hours to exit the system.”

“You cannot be serious,” said Leliana. “There are Imperials in the system and Lady Montilyet –”

“You will lock down your ship’s weapons,” the human repeated. “You will place _all personal weapons in a weapons locker before leaving your ship._ You will submit to invasive search. If you cannot or will not comply, you may leave the system.”

“Lady Montilyet is a diplomat,” protested Giselle.

The human gave her a flat stare. “What is your point?”

“She should be subject to diplomatic immunity,” Giselle huffed. “Both of us should.”

“You have not presented diplomatic credentials on the behalf of anyone to work with the government of Taekhren. This is not a Republic world. Neither of you have diplomatic standing. You are subject to all laws governing Taekhren-ai space. As such, you will lock down your ship’s weapons. You will place all personal weapons in a provided weapons locker. You will submit to invasive search. Or you will leave.”

“That’s not –”

“We will comply,” said Cullen, interrupting Giselle, deepening his accent. “She’s right, Knight Matha. Whatever immunity the lady has in Republic space, it doesn’t extend to neutral worlds, whether it’s Taekhren or Hutta.”

“Do you treat Imperials like this?” Giselle demanded.

“Yes. Outsiders are not permitted the use of arms.” The officer handed the ident chips back to Leliana. “There will be no altercations. This is a neutral system. Fighting is subject to expulsion or summary execution.”

Cullen gaped. He looked at Cassandra. “Right then.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Knight Matha, it will be fine,” said Josephine. “What do you mean by invasive search?”

“You are subject to decontamination. Your clothes will be examined while you undergo cleaning, at which time complete bio-scans will be taken of your person, to verify identity and that you are not using more… unorthodox methods of smuggling contraband.”

“Very thorough,” said Cassandra, clearly approving, earning herself a dirty look from Giselle. “What? Am I not allowed to appreciate competence?”

“This is outrageous,” muttered Giselle, sighing.

“There seem to be neither goods nor contraband,” announced the Taekhren-ai. “Inspection passed. You are authorized to dock at section C, Republic, 4.2 spinward. Aldet, retrieve the weapons locker.”

“Yes, _igir._ ” The human clipped his datapad to his belt, allowing his arms to fall relaxed at his sides before lowering his eyes. “It shall be done.”

The pressure in the Force returned, more heavy handed than before. “You are permitted limited visitation for the purpose of trade. The list of permitted spheres will be presented to you upon docking. It is suggested that you prove yourselves to be something other than liars.”

“You do not trust us?” asked Cullen.

“You will find no trust for the Republic here,” said the Taekhren-ai. “And if you are merchants, you have hidden it well. You will be watched.”

 

Docking was rather anticlimactic, despite Giselle’s grumbling. Cullen felt naked without so much as a vibroblade on his person. It was sobering to realize that he’d spent his entire adult life – and most of his childhood – armed with deadly weapons, even when in the heart of places that were supposed to be safe. Cassandra wore a disgruntled little scowl as they left the decontamination facilities. As much as she admired efficiency and competence, she was no more happy to be without her sword.

“It is as well that we did not try to smuggle weapons in,” she said in an undertone as they regrouped. “They questioned my wedding jewelry.”

Cullen’s brows rose. Cassandra’s people did not wear the ubiquitous marriage rings that many humanoid cultures favored. Instead they exchanged finely wrought torques inlaid with shards of focusing crystals, crystals that – but for their size – would be suitable for building energy weapons of any sort. Nevarra was a geologically active world, rich in crystal and rare earths, making commonplace a gift that would bankrupt Hutts.

He glanced at her gorget, a thick silver-black ring that held those crystals close to her skin. In a way the Taekhren-ai were right. It was a kind of weapon. Like many of her people, Cassandra was both Force sensitive and Force trained. The focusing crystals allowed her a kind of clarity in the force that Jedi Masters would envy.

Cassandra would have made a magnificent Jedi, Cullen thought, but found that he was glad that she was not. As much as he loved Giselle and the support she’d offered him, it was Cassandra’s unease with Giselle’s dogmatism that made it easier for him to question what he thought he knew.

“I assume you explained?” he asked.

“I did. They wondered why you were not wearing one as well.” She gave a disgusted little snort. “They found it strange that I would travel so far without my husband.”

“Regalyan would beat me bloody if I married you.”

She laughed. “He would not, but I doubt you would enjoy his lecture about how polyamory requires the permission of all parties.”

“You never know, I might,” said Cullen, making an attempt to waggle his eyebrows. Cassandra laughed harder.

“I will tell him so the next time we speak.” They watched Josephine and Giselle exit from decontamination. Josie was, as always, serene. Giselle wore a small frown that might as well have been an outraged glare.

“What’s wrong?”

Giselle’s expression cleared as she looked at him, becoming neutral. “It seems that they are very aware of what the components of a lightsaber are. We have been given a warning, but they seemed to expect it of me.”

“I am not surprised,” muttered Cassandra. “We should not have brought her. It is becoming worse.”

Cullen just nodded. “Leliana remains on the ship?”

“We are, it seems, allowed to defend our ship from invasion.” Josephine sighed. “I must go. Please report in when you reach your destination, so we know where to look for you when we’re ready to go.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” said Cullen. “Cassandra?”

“Let us go.”

 

They took their leave of Josephine and Giselle, following a station radial coreward, heading for the central mercantile district where they could peruse both offworld and local merchandise. It made him twitchy, hyperawareness settling in with each Imperial uniform they passed. Mandalorians, strangely subdued for a notoriously boisterous people, seemed to occupy every corner as they entered the market proper.

It was a riot of color and noise. There were children everywhere, of every description Cullen could think to put a name to.

“Unusual,” said Cassandra quietly, jerking her chin toward a clutch of Imperial officers who were clearly performing childcare. Cullen swept his gaze over them, keeping himself from staring only by dint of will. Few of the men and women in uniform were _human_ , and those that were seemed to be caring as tenderly for their non-human charges as the human ones.

“A little bit,” said Cullen, spying a stall on the other side of the throng that held unusual glassware. Sharply sinuous, it tugged at him. “What do you think of that?”

Cassandra gave a considering little moue of lips, eyes glittering as they quartered the crowd. “Good choice.”

He smirked a little. “After you, my lady.”

“Ass.” She took the lead, weaving them through the milling beings, crowds parting before her determined stride like clouds beneath a skyskimmer. They didn’t speak, trying to catch snatches of conversation as they passed by. Cullen found himself strengthening his mental shielding as they reached the thickest part of the throng. For all the color and apparent gaiety, there was deep and fierce current of horror and despair.

Beneath strained laughter were quiet sobs. Younger children crying for parents, for siblings. Names being called across the low tide of beings, in panic, in fear, and in occasional joy.

“Saara!” a female voice called sharply just as small torpedo hit Cullen’s legs. He looked down, startled to find a small, red-skinned, tow-headed child that had literally _bounced_ off of his shins staring up at him from the floor. Fleshy tendrils framed a firm little chin and arched away from high brow ridges, surmounting wide electrum eyes.

_Silver eyed sith._

Cullen knelt. “Are you all right?”

The child scrambled backward, eyes flashing. Fear brushed his shields, with a heavy dose of inhuman rage, all of it coming from those brilliant eyes.

“Saara, no.” An older girl stepped forward, offering the child, Saara, a hand up. Human – pale-skinned with predatory eyes of a burnished gold several shades darker than her hair. The girl bowed gracefully. “Apologize to the man.”

“But Lana –”

“Not now, Saara.” Lana’s voice was crisply Imperial, though it bore traces of something else, something Cullen felt he should recognize. Golden eyes skewered him, pale lips curling in neither a smile nor a sneer, yet still a curve that cut to the bone. “We will tell Dorian when he arrives. All right? Now apologize for not looking where you were going. Mama is coming.”

The little girl frowned, turning to stare at him.

“Sorry,” she said with the careless insincerity of forced apology. “ _Sir Padawan_.”

Cullen froze as the girl grabbed the older child’s hand.

“You should keep going,” said Lana, turning away. “Unless you want to be exposed. _Jetii_ , _mortalitas._ After this, all debts are paid.”

“By the stars,” said Cassandra, staring after the children. “What just happened?”

“Move,” Cullen growled, feeling more than seeing a blue-skinned twi’lek push her way through the crowd. He stood, suiting action to words.

“Cullen!” Cassandra protested, following gamely along. They hit the edge of the crowd near the glass stall, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop.

He tugged, trying to pull away, but true to her stubborn nature, Cassandra held fast.

“What _was_ that?” she hissed.

“I’m not sure,” he gritted back. “The baby, I think – and the littlest girl.”

“What?”

He looked back toward where they’d been and saw the crowd giving wide berth to the twi’lek he’d glanced. Even at this distance he could feel the anger and concern that poured off of her in equal measure, a living wave of dark energy that embraced everything that surrounded her. He saw the woman pick Saara up, relief relaxing the lines of her face as the girl cuddled close. Cassandra followed his gaze and hummed as they watched the blonde, Lana, tug the woman’s hand, pointing at a stall on the far side of the crowd.

“She is distracting her,” said Cassandra. “Why?”

“‘All debts are paid,’” he quoted. “Come on, we need to find goods we can sell on Nar Shadda and Coruscant.”

“Cullen.”

“Not here,” he told her. “Shopping first.”

Cassandra gave a disgusted snort, but followed. It was slow going, subtly gathering information as they moved from stall to shop to kiosk. The children were refugees – there had been a Republic attack on S’keth, one merchant told them, disgust heavy in his voice. There was a rumor of some kind of biological warfare, something so awful that the remaining S’kethi had quarantined themselves after managing get as many of their children and young adults off-world in ancient sleeper ships as they could.

They settled into an assigned room at the visitor’s hostel – the Taekhren-ai preferring to provide shelter than allow privately owned business to give hidden space for conflict. Given the prevalence of Imperial troops and the dearth of Republic forces or civilians it was probably wise. To his surprise some of the orders they’d made had already been delivered to the room, and appeared to have arrived unmolested.

“We should comm Leliana,” Cassandra told him, staring dubiously around her. “And search the room.”

“Worried about listening devices, ma’am?” Cullen looked around. “I imagine that if they exist they’re built into the walls.”

“This is likely true.” Cassandra tossed herself onto one of the beds. “What do you think?”

Cullen sat on the other bed, leaning back on his hands. “Interesting place. Very orderly. Reminds me of Manaan. Neutral world, where the natives _really_ don’t tolerate shenanigans. I’m kind of surprised at the refugees, though. I hadn’t heard that this was a destination for anyone.”

Cassandra huffed a small laugh, hands cushioning her head as she stared up at the ceiling. “Yes. It is most unexpected.”

“I’m not sure where they’re from,” he mused, continuing to play along. “But wasn’t the girl who ran into me… wasn’t she _sith?_ Like, from the Empire, our-blood-must-be-pure _sith?”_

“I believe so,” Cassandra mumbled, even white teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. “Odd little being – I thought that sith were supposed to have golden eyes.”

“I’ve… heard of a few that don’t,” Cullen put forward. “There was that _one_ Sith Lord, after all. That Darth they put on trial a few years ago, the one before…”

“Ah…” The sound of sudden insight put forward would have been convincing, if Cullen wasn’t familiar with Cassandra’s usual huff of enlightenment. “Darth Saarage, or something, I think. I don’t recall precisely.”

 _And the child’s name is Saara_ , Cullen thought. The memory of a similarly pale-eyed youth cradling a wailing infant punched in the gut. _Dorian’s sister?_

“But what would she be doing _here_ of all places?” he wondered aloud. “Surely not a refugee?”

“It seems unlikely,” said Cassandra. “But misfortune can strike anyone – even sith, I presume.”

He thinks of Adaarani. “True.”

“You might argue that they live their lives drenched in tragedy,” Cassandra said softly, “if once considers the stories of the Jedi.”

Cullen couldn’t help snorting. “If you listen to Giselle… yes.”

“Ah, yes. Knight Matha.” Cassandra turned her head, looking at him. “A good woman, but one with… blinders it seems. At least if the trip was any indication.”

Cullen flicked his eyes at the walls, nodding a little. He didn’t want to be blatant about using the Force, though non-Jedi Force users weren’t unheard of, but he’d always had a sense for monitoring devices. Cassandra grimaced a little, and he shrugged.

“The good Knight is a Jedi through and through, even though she said she’s left the Order.”

“Has she? Sometimes I wonder.” Cassandra’s flat delivery surprised him. “Her insistence upon the dogma of the Jedi Order, even when confronted with other facts seems unfortunate.”

“Yeah, well,” Cullen pushed himself up and rested his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. “We don’t know everything she’s ever been through. She’s Jedi – I’m sure she had to fight Sith.”

“I’m sure she has.” Cassandra rolled onto her side. “Many have, in the war.   Even so. It seems…. Excessive. Perhaps disadvantageous, on a world such as this one. Or when thinking about. Things. Things that Sith may have done. She’s not as balanced as I would think a Jedi should be.”

Cullen grunted, thinking of the way Giselle could become monofocused on the evil of the Sith.

“Cullen – it’s okay to disagree with Jedi.”

He glanced at her, eyeing the quirk of her lips with mild distrust.

“I disagree with Regalyan all the time.”

“You were raised on _Nevarra_ ,” he said repressively. “Your views of the Force aren’t exactly normal.”

She laughed. “As though, as a Thedasian born, you are all that different.”

He scowled at her. It was true, though – until his tenth year, he’d been raised in the backcountry of Ferelden, on Thedas, an area that had been largely settled by refugees from the Sith Empire. One of the reasons for Meredith’s unrelenting harshness – and his almost immediate direct apprenticeship – had been due to the laxness with which his parents and village viewed the Light and Dark sides.

There was a knock on the door.

Cassandra’s sat up, brow furling in distaste as she reached for a vibroblade that wasn’t there. She gave a disgusted huff as she looked at her empty hand. Cullen raised a brow at her and she rolled her eyes.

The knock came again.

“We should see who it is.”

They looked at each other. Cullen sighed and stood up, silently cursing the lack of a security feed for the door as he palmed the lock open.

“Huh,” said the being on the other side of the door. “Thought I might have to get one of the floating brains.”

Cullen looked up. Then up some more. He was by no means a short human, but the being that filled the doorway was massive. He had no idea what species it was, nor had he ever heard of the like. It reminded him of the great, horned herd beasts on certain backwater worlds, if such creatures were bipedal and brimming with barely suppressed lethality.

“Taekhren-ai, Chief.” The light tenor voice came from behind the massive figure, vibrating with sound of long-suffering.

“That’s what I said, Krem. The floating brain things.”

“Chief, do I really need to go over the Boss’ views on that?”

“Nah. He knows who I mean.” The large being looked down at him, one bright blue eye gleaming at him, while the cybernetic replacement on the other side glowed a malevolent red. It was disconcerting how Cullen’s mind read the conflicting messages of the sapient’s body language as ‘violently cheerful,’ though somehow not in an immediately dangerous way.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Cullen asked politely, feeling Cassandra come up behind his shoulder.

“Wow, that’s a pretty lady, you got there. Just like I like ‘em, deadly and beautiful. What do you usually wield? Vibrosword?”

“I fail to see how it is any business of yours,” Cassandra said repressively. “But yes.”

“It’s just business. It’s a pleasure to meet ya. I’m The Iron Bull of clan Ka-dan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Is there something I can help you with, uh, The Iron Bull?”

“See now,” the being tossed over its shoulder. “I told you he’d be smart. I didn’t even have to tell him that the article is important.”

“Chief –”

“Me’n the guys saw you two wandering the market.” Sharp eyes took in the variety of small boxes that had been delivered to the hostel. “Heard you were asking questions.”

“Hard not to,” Cullen replied easily. “It isn’t every day you run into a bunch of Imperial officers babysitting a small horde of children.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said The Iron Bull. “Ain’t seen a lot of non-imps. Thought we might ask you out for a drink. Get some news that doesn’t come from the floaty-brains. They don’t got much by way of non-Taekhren-ai holonet feeds.”

There was an amused huff from behind The Iron Bull. “What, you want me to get the boys to break out the mead, Chief?”

“Cullen,” said Cassandra, “your manners are appalling. The Iron Bull, I am Cassandra Calogera. This is Cullen Stanton. We are pleased to make your acquaintance. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow – I am not sure…”

“Ma’am, I don’t think that you understand. The boys and I, well, we’d like a little information. We can do it the easy way, or the hard way, but you’ll be coming right along.”

“Altercations between visitors are strictly forbidden,” said Cassandra.

“Ma’am,” said The Iron Bull, backing up just far enough to reveal a squad of Mandalorians in well-tended armor, “ _we_ aren’t considered visitors.”


End file.
